Harry Potter Investigation HPI: The Big Sleep
by Sharptooth
Summary: AU. Private Detective Harry Potter takes a case for General Greengrass: Seeing his daughter's difficulties taken care of. It seemed like an easy case, but appearances can be deceiving. A different kind of Harry Potter story. Harry/Daphne
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**The Big Sleep: A Harry Potter Investigations Adventure**

He could see that it was the house of a family with a lot of money, the old kind of money. That was fine by him, he always needed the money. He pulled up into the outer driveway and carefully maneuvered his classic corvette towards the entrance.

The house was huge and made of brick, with a tower to each side, and a staircase that would make the builders of Hogwarts flush with envy. Windows were on either side of the staircase on all three floors, and the roof had a castle-like staggered parapet around it.

He supposed that he should make sure and put the top up though, as it looked as if it might rain at any moment. It was the season for showers and he really didn't want to drive home while soaking wet. He wished that he could simply apparate, but considering that he was in the middle of London, and there were Muggles everywhere, he had decided to do things their way.

After parking the car he carefully got out and put the top up, taking a moment to run his fingers over the lustrous periwinkle blue paint job. Merlin but he loved that car! It had cost him almost a year's salary to buy and restore it, but he had done all the work himself, by hand with no magic. By now the late fifties model 'vette was an extension of himself.

He turned and walked up to the stairs. It was a long ways up to the first floor. Close to twenty steps, with a landing halfway up. He sighed and trudged his way up towards the door, adjusting the collar of his trench coat and the bill of his fedora as he did so.

He considered lighting a fag, but decided that since he would probably have to put it out in a moment, it wasn't worth the effort. It wasn't like he smoked often anyway, but in his line of work image was everything. Projecting the tough guy look didn't come naturally to him, but he could easily pull it off.

When he reached the top he stood for a moment and got his bearings. The door was of a very old hardwood variety, etched with intricate patterns carved around the borders. There was a brass doorplate knocker, with a lettered name engraved: Greengrass.

He used the knocker and stood back to wait. He had grown in the years since school, and he had filled out nicely. It was a lonely life that he led, and it was thus a lonely look that he had upon his face. An observer watching him might comment that he had the look of a hard-boiled cynic. It would probably be a truthful observation. His brows were creased in thought and he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to pinch the bridge of his nose to stem the tide of an impending headache. Yes, he had seen much and experienced altogether too much in his short years.

The door opened to reveal a thin, silver haired man in a grey butler's outfit. He had a stern yet gentle looking face. He was starting to bald, but his hair was long on the sides and pulled back in a pony tail. "Good morning sir."

"I'm Harry Potter. General Greengrass sent for me," Harry said.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, will you come in?" He stepped aside to allow Harry access.

"Thanks," Harry replied as he stepped over the threshold. The entry hall was huge and very opulent. A curved stair rose from a floor below and another curved up to the second floor. The interior was decked out in a rich lawn green and silver. A small table with a Victorian style chair completed the chamber.

The butler took Harry's coat and hat, leaving Harry in the charcoal business suit and tie that had become his favored mode of dress. His worn but well cared for loafers completed his ensemble.

"Will you sit here?" the butler asked. "I'll inform the General that you have arrived."

"Alright," Harry replied as the butler exited. He started towards the chair, but noticed something that caught his interest. He moved over to look at a portrait on one wall. It was of General Greengrass in is regimentals, beneath battle-torn cavalry pennons and holding a sabre. He was almost lost in thought while staring at the portrait when he caught the sound of movement from the staircase.

Turning slightly so that he might see who was approaching he spotted her. She had just left the stairs and was approaching him. Perhaps twenty years of age by his estimate, she was definitely a beauty, her long blonde hair flowing in soft curls behind her. She had on a soft green blouse and silver slacks. As she moved slowly towards him he couldn't help thinking that there was something both sullen and slinky about her. She stopped at maybe ten feet from him and stared at him, biting the thumb of her left hand.

"Good morning," Harry said in a light tone.

She continued to stare at him for a moment. "You're not very tall, are you?" she asked.

"I tried to be," he replied with a grin.

"Not bad looking, though – you probably know it," she said in a sexy tone.

"Thanks," he answered. He made his way over to the chair next to the small table and sat down. As he looked up he saw her approaching, still staring at him.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Reilly – Doghouse Reilly."

"That's a funny name," she replied. "Are you a hit wizard?"

"No, I'm a shamus," he responded.

"A what?"

"A detective, a private dick," he said shaking his head.

"You're cute," she said, moving while she spoke. She sat down suddenly on the arm of his chair. As she did so Harry rose and shifted the chair so that she found herself sitting in the chair while he was looking down at her. She stared up, at first surprised and then angrily. She looked to be about to say something when her expression told Harry that they weren't alone. He glanced over his shoulder to see the butler standing there. On his face was a curious expression of sadness and grief. She glanced at him and rose quickly as if he had reprimanded her with words instead of a glance and just as quickly exited. Harry looked after her with a thoughtful expression and a little grin.

"The General shall see you now," the butler said.

"Who was that?" Harry asked while looking after her.

"Miss Astoria Greengrass, sir," the butler replied.

"You ought to wean her. She looks old enough," Harry said sarcastically.

"As you say, sir. This way, if you please." Harry followed him out a set of French doors.

They proceeded out through the back garden and alongside a huge garage. Beyond it was a tremendous greenhouse. The butler led Harry along the path towards the greenhouse. Harry noted that there was a man, perhaps a chauffeur, washing a car in the garage. He was a handsome, boyish looking man in perhaps his early twenties.

Harry followed the butler on to the greenhouse, looking at the tremendous size of it as the butler opened the door and stood aside for him to enter. Harry did so, and the first thing that he noticed was that for all its size, it was literally choked with orchids. The second thing that he noticed was that it was amazingly hot in there. He remembered the greenhouses as Hogwarts. While they were warm, they were nothing like this. This place was oven-hot, damp with sweat, green with gloom. Harry pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face and neck. He hadn't been in here for more than a minute and he was already perspiring freely.

"Couldn't we have gone around this?" he asked, almost pleading.

"The General sits in here, sir," the butler answered. He led Harry through the plants and into the center of the greenhouse. There, in a cleared space about which the plants crowded and hovered, sat an old man in a wheelchair. Obviously the man that Harry had seen in the portrait, though now much older, the General sat morosely in his chair. That he was obviously dying was evident in the degenerated body, though there was still life in his eyes, which were fierce, but resigned. Even in the terrific heat he was wrapped in a blanket and heavy robes. His gnarled hands were lying like dead twigs on the blanket, but his eyes followed as the butler led Harry in.

The butler stopped in front of the old man. "This is Mr. Potter, General. The General didn't speak, though his eyes stared up fiercely at Harry as the butler pushed a wicker chair up behind his legs.

"Brandy, Filch," the General said to the butler. He regarded Harry. "How do you like your brandy, sir?"

Harry sat down before replying. "Just with brandy," he said. Filch quickly exited.

"I used to like mine with champagne," the General started. "The champagne cold as Hogsmeade in December and about three ponies of brandy under it. You may take off your coat, sir."

"Thanks," Harry said as he moved to do so, hanging the coat on the back of the chair. He mopped his brow again with his handkerchief.

"It's too hot in here for any man who still has blood in his veins." Greengrass watched Harry for a moment. "You may smoke as well. I can still enjoy the smell of it, anyway."

"Thanks," Harry replied as he produced a fag. He lit it and blew smoke. Greengrass' nostrils moved as he sniffed the air. Filch re-entered, pushing a tea wagon bearing a decanter, a glass and an initialed ice bucket.

"That man is already dead who must indulge his own vices by proxy," Greengrass sighed. Filch wheeled the wagon up and started to prepare a drink for Harry. "Come, man, pour a decent one," the General ordered.

"Yes, General," Filch replied as he added more brandy.

"Not too descent, Filch," Harry said quickly. "I wouldn't want to exchange places with it." Filch nodded and added soda before handing the glass to Harry. "Thank you," Harry said softly. He sat back as Filch covered the ice bucket with napkin before exiting the greenhouse. Harry raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. As he did so he watched General Greengrass lick his lips with longing pleasure and enjoyment. Harry lowered the glass and looked at the old man. While he could appreciate the old soldiers plight, he found it somewhat demeaning and more than a little disturbing.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Potter," the General said. "I suppose I have the right to ask."

"There's not a lot to tell," Harry started. "I'm thirty-eight years old. It's been twenty years since I vanquished the Dark Lord. I went to school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a long time ago. I can still speak the Queen's English when there's any demand for it in my business. I worked for the Auror's office once. It was Gawain Robards', the head of the office that sent word to me through his chief investigator that you wanted to see me. Oh, and I'm not married."

"You didn't like working for Mr. Robards?"

Harry laughed. "I was fired for insubordination. I seem to rank pretty high on that."

"I always did, myself," Greengrass replied. His accompanying laugh was dry and dusty. He slid one of his hands under the blanket. "What do you know about my family, Mr. Potter?"

Harry mopped his brow. "You're a widower, a multi-millionaire, two young daughters. One is unmarried, the other was married once but it didn't last. Both now living with you and both…"

"Go on," the General said as he glared at Harry.

"Am I to swap you gossip for hospitality, sir?" Harry asked.

"You are to swap me your confidence for my own," Greengrass responded sternly.

Harry shrugged. He could do that if the old man wanted it so. "Alright, both pretty, and both pretty – wild. What did you want to see me about?"

"I'm being blackmailed again."

"Again?" Harry asked.

Greengrass pulled his hand back out from under the blanket. He held a brown envelope in his hand. "About a year ago I paid a man named Peregrine Derrick five thousand galleons to let my younger daughter alone."

"Ah,"

"What does that mean?" Greengrass asked, perhaps a little sharper than he intended.

"It means 'ah'. It never went through the Auror's office or I'd have known it. Who handled it for you?" Harry leaned forward and mopped the back of his neck.

"Malcolm Baddock," Greengrass said.

Harry took a moment to alternate between his faggot, his drink, and his now sodden handkerchief. "There must be some reason why Baddock's not handling this one too. Am I to know it?"

"Malcolm has left me."

"I thought I hadn't seen him around lately," Harry said softly.

"Yes, he left about a month ago," Greengrass said. "Without a word, that was what hurt. I had no claim on him, since I was only his employer. But, I hoped we were more than that and that he would have said goodbye to me. You knew him too?"

"Yes," Harry said. "From the old days when he was running proscribed potions ingredients from Ireland and I was on the other side, and now and then we swapped hexes between drinks – or drinks between hexes, if you like that better."

Greengrass nodded. "My respects to you. Few men ever exchange more than one hex with Malcolm Baddock. He commanded a brigade in the Irish hit wizards, you know."

"No, I didn't," Harry replied, once more mopping at his neck. "But I knew he was good at whatever he did. Nobody was pleased better than me when I heard you had taken him as your – whatever he was here."

"As my friend, my son almost," Greengrass informed him. "Many's the hour he would sit here with me, sweating like a pig, drinking brandy I could no longer drink, telling me stories of the Irish days – but enough of this." He held out the envelope for Harry to take. "Here. Help yourself to the brandy."

Harry took the envelope and sat back. He wiped his hands on his wet handkerchief and opened the envelope. The took a card and three clips of stiff paper out of it. He looked at the card.

_Mr. Xavier Blott_

_Flourish and Blott's_

_Rare Books and Deluxe Editions._

He turned the cared over. Printed by hand on the back there was a message:

_Dear Sir,_

_In spite of the legal uncollectibility of the enclosed, which frankly are gambling debts, I assume you might wish them honored._

_Respectfully,_

_Xavier Blott_

Harry next examined the pieces of paper. They were promissory notes for a thousand galleons apiece, each signed by Astoria Greengrass. General Greengrass watched as Harry went to the wagon and mixed himself a drink and then turn back towards him.

"Well," the General asked.

"Do you know this Xavier Blott?"

"No sir, though I suspect from the card that he owns that bookstore in Diagon Alley."

"Have you asked your daughter?" Harry inquired.

"No, and I don't intend to. If I did she would suck her thumb and look coy."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I met her in the hall. She did that at me. Then she tried to sit in my lap." Greengrass glared at him. After a moment Harry raised the glass and drinks from it.

"Well?" Greengrass asks harshly.

Harry stared at him for a moment. "Am I being polite, or can I say what I want?"

"Say it."

"Do the girls run around together?" Harry asked.

Greengrass let out a sigh. "I think not. They are alike on in their corrupt blood. Daphne is spoiled, exacting, smart and ruthless. Astoria is still the child who likes to pull the wings off flies. I assume they have always had all the usual vices; whatever new ones of their own invention…" He made a repressed, convulsive movement, then glared at Harry. "Well?"

"Pay him," Harry suggested.

"Why should I?"

"It's cheaper," Harry answered. "A little money against a lot of annoyance. The money you shan't miss, and if your heart hasn't broken long before this time, whatever's behind these" – he indicated the notes – "shan't do it now."

"Not my heart," the General replied. "No Greengrass ever had one. But there is my pride, which I at least, and I believe my older daughter still, both have."

"Sure," Harry said. "A man named Xavier Blott just betting himself three thousand galleons on that pride. Who was this Peregrine Derrick you paid five thousand to?"

"I don't recall," Greengrass said. "Filch would know. My butler. I think Derrick called himself a gambler. This may be an authentic gambling debt, after all."

Harry looked at Greengrass for a moment. He turned and set the glass down on the tea wagon and took a napkin to mop himself with while Greengrass watched him. "Do you think it is?" he asked.

"No," Greengrass replied after a second's thought. Harry mopped himself again with the napkin and put it back on the wagon so he could pick up his drink.

"I guess that you want me to take this Blott off your back: that right?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to know anything, or do you just want to be rid of him?" Harry asked.

"Didn't you just tell me I no longer have any heart to be broken?" Greengrass snapped.

"It may cost you a little," Harry responded as if nothing was wrong. "Besides my own fifty galleons a day and expenses."

Greengrass said nothing, merely making a faint, impatient motion of his head and shoulders. Harry drained his glass and set it back on the tea wagon.

"When would you like me to start?"

"At once," Greengrass said. "And now, if you will excuse me – but another brandy before you go?"

"No thanks," Harry said as he gathered up the papers and his coat.

"Then good morning, and good luck." Greengrass laid back in his chair and closed his eyes. Harry watched him for a moment, then, his coat over his arm and still mopping his neck, he left the old man to his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**Chapter Two**

"_Then good morning, and good luck." Greengrass laid back in his chair and closed his eyes. Harry watched him for a moment, then, his coat over his arm and still mopping his neck, he left the old man to his dreams._

Harry emerged from the greenhouse, dripping wet and still mopping himself with his sodden handkerchief. If he knew for certain that he wouldn't be breaking etiquette, he would have cleaned himself with his wand, but he didn't. He took a deep breath of the cool morning air. It was still early in the year for the thunderstorms, but it looked like there was one brewing anyway. Harry didn't mind, it would certainly cool him off. He was glad that he had put the top up on his corvette. It wouldn't do to have soaked seating on the way home.

Before he reached the house he met Filch in the garden. The old butler paused a couple of feet away from him looking both respectful and grave. "Mrs. Belby, the oldest daughter would like to see you before you leave, sir. And about the money: the General has instructed me to give you a check for whatever you require."

"Instructed you how?" Harry asked.

Filch blinked for a moment and stared at Harry, then he broke out in a lopsided smile. "Ah, I see, sir. I forgot that you are a detective. By the way he rang the bell, sir."

"You write his checks."

"I have that privilege, yes," Filch replied.

Harry started walking: it would do no good to get caught in the impending storm, besides he was wanted inside. "That ought to save you from a pauper's grave. I shan't be needing any money now, thanks – how did Mrs. Belby know I was here?"

"She saw you through the window. I was obliged to tell her who you were," Filch responded.

"I don't think that I like that," Harry growled.

"Are you attempting to tell me my duties, sir?" Filch asked.

"No, just having fun trying to guess what they are," Harry responded moodily.

"This way, sir," Filch said as he opened the door to the house and motioned Harry inside. He led Harry to a door that was down a corridor from the entry hall that He had already seen. He opened the door and announced Harry. A rich, sultry contralto voice responded for Harry to enter.

The room was large, over-elaborate, and very feminine. Daphne Belby nee Greengrass was reclining on a chaise-lounge, showing her shapely legs to good advantage. Harry couldn't help but notice just how beautiful the lady was in person. He had heard rumors, but they obviously didn't do her justice. Her light ash blonde hair was lustrous and wavy, ending just below her shoulders. He was struck by her eyes though. At first he wasn't sure is they were blue or green, but as he studied her a little more he came to realize that they were actually a striking shade of grey, only appearing to change color as she inclined her head to catch more or less light. The overall effect when coupled with the expression evident on her face was that of strong will combined with strong emotions: a dangerously unpredictable type. Harry grinned as he realized that this one might be even more trouble than the younger, wild-child sister.

She sipped a drink, almost insolently at ease and watched Harry as he entered. Harry was still rumpled and sweaty from his time in the greenhouse. He decided immediately to adopt her be-damned-to-you attitude and looked her over blatantly, before sitting down unbidden and wiping his face and neck with his handkerchief.

"So you're both a hero and a private detective," she said. "I didn't know they existed except in book, or else they were little greedy men snooping around hotels." She looked at him a little closer and snorted. "My, you're a mess, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm not the orchid-bearing type," he replied sarcastically.

"This business of Dad's – think you can handle it for him?"

"It doesn't look too tough," Harry said sardonically.

"Really?" she asked. "I would have thought a case like that took a little effort."

"Not too much," Harry said as he shrugged.

"Well! What will your first step be?" She leaned forward, giving Harry a wonderful view courtesy of an open button on her blouse.

"The usual one," Harry scoffed.

"I didn't know there was a usual one." She sat back and scowled at him.

"Oh yes," he replied. "It comes complete with diagrams on page forty-seven of _How to be a Detective in Ten Easy Lessons_ correspondence school textbook."

"You must have read another one on how to be a comedian," she said flatly. "I'm quite serious, Mr. Potter. My father is not well, and I want this case handled with the least possible worry to him."

"That's the way I'm going to handle it," Harry said easily, smiling perhaps a little too broadly now.

"I see. No professional secrets."

Harry didn't answer. He was too busy admiring her legs. What could he say, he enjoyed a set of gams like that. She set her glass down and looked him over coolly, as though he were something in a bottle. "How do you like Dad?"

"I liked him," Harry said truthfully.

"He liked Malcolm," Daphne said. "I suppose you know who Malcolm is?"

"Yeah, I know."

"You don't have to play verbal poker with me," she said harshly. "Dad wants to find him, doesn't he?"

"Do you?" Harry asked.

"Of course I do!" she responded. "It wasn't right for him to go off like that. Broke Dad's heart, although he won't say much about it – or did he?"

"He mentioned it," Harry gave her.

"I don't see what there is to be cagey about. And I don't like your manners." This was almost snarled at him.

"I'm not crazy about yours," he replied. All pretense of pleasantness was gone in his countenance. "I didn't ask to see you, you asked to see me. And I don't mind your ritzing me, or drinking your lunch out of a bottle. I don't mind your showing me your legs either. They're very nice legs and it's a pleasure to make their acquaintance. I don't mind if you don't like my manners, they're pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings. But don't waste your time trying to cross examine me."

Anger flashed across Daphne's face, breaking the facade for the first time. She swung her legs to the floor and glared at him. Her anger was something sparkling and terrific to behold. It gave Harry a slight thrill that he didn't mind in the least.

"People don't talk to me like that," she spat out.

Harry laughed at her softly. His eyes were both warm and mocking. Daphne slowly started to relax while looking at him, and something besides fury seemed to slip onto her face.

"Do you always think you can handle people like trained seals?" she asked.

"Just what is it you're afraid of?" he asked in return. They watched each other for a few moments before Daphne's face closed against him like a door.

"Dad didn't want to see you about Malcolm at all," she stated.

"Didn't he?" Harry asked.

"Get out," she said, her voice flat and emotionless. Harry stood and turned from her. "Please… you could find Malcolm if Dad wanted you to."

"When did he go?" Harry deadpanned.

"A month back. He just drove away one afternoon without a word. They found his car in some private garage." She worried her lip for a moment.

"They?"

Her manner was suddenly different. It was almost as if she felt that she had won her bout with him. "Dad didn't tell you then."

"He told me about Baddock, yes. That's not what he wanted to see me about. Is that what you've been trying to get me to say?" Harry smiled easily at the change in her.

"I'm sure I don't care what you say."

Harry gave her a look that told her in no uncertain terms that he didn't believe her in the least. "You might change your mind about that some day. So long, Mrs. Belby."

Daphne watched him as he left, her eyes smoldering and puzzled.

Harry came down the hall, heading for the door. Filch appeared with his hat and handed it to him.

"You made a mistake, Filch," Harry told him. "Mrs. Belby didn't want to see me."

"I'm sorry, sir. I make many mistakes." Filch opened the door for Harry. Harry paused to look at the view. Beyond the lawns and hedges of the Greengrass estate the ground fell away to reveal barren fields with several old wooden derricks, some of them still wearily pumping oil. The derricks were a considerable distance away, but Harry could see them well enough. The sky was clouded and thunder sounded in the distance.

"I didn't realize that Greengrass was invested in Muggle businesses. How long have those been pumping?" Harry asked.

"About thirty years," Filch answered. "The General sometimes likes to take his field glasses and sit by the window and watch the walking-beams. They're like life, he says – an endless seesaw, forever up and down getting nowhere."

"They get oil, Harry said. "Black stuff, with a smell to it… worth money…" He exited through the door and walked calmly down the stairs and out to his car. The sound of thunder followed him down the drive and out onto the road beyond.

*0*0*

Harry walked calmly across the parking lot and into the building in front of him. As he walked to the door he took in the plaque on the wall next to it: Westminster Public Library.

It didn't take him long to get some of the things he wanted. After all, he had been a student at Hogwarts for six years and had been forced to look things up in the library there on many occasions. Add in all the times that he had to do research for a case and he was well versed in how to use a library.

He found himself in a typical reading room, with the usual characters hunched over books at the tables. Harry stood by the librarian's desk while a boy came out of the door by the stacks and handed the librarian a book. She looked it over to confirm it was what she wanted.

"Famous first editions," she murmured. It was obvious from the look that she gave Harry that she didn't think he would be the type to be reading about first editions. "This was the one that you wanted?"

"I collect blondes, too – in bottles…" Leaving the stunned librarian to her duties he walked over to a table and sat down to read, ignoring the glares the young woman was giving him.

*0*0*

It was late in the afternoon when Harry walked down Diagon Alley and up to Flourish and Blott's bookstore. The building was very old, and by the looks of the sign the establishment had been there for a long time. Of course, it had been there for at least twenty-seven years that Harry himself could confirm. It was there that he had bought his first school books. He looked at the faded green sign with red lettering and thought momentarily back to when he was a young boy getting ready for his first trip into the wizarding world. He smiled as the memory warmed him, and then stepped through the door and into the store.

It had changed since he had last been in though. He supposed that it was a change in management from father to son that would do so, or perhaps Flourish died and Blott took over. The fact may or may not be relevant, and Harry filed it away with all the other minutiae that he was already collecting for this case.

The room was small, din and extensively under furnished with leather chairs, smoking stands and a small pseudo oriental desk. A few sets of tooled leather binds were on narrow tables. Others were in glass cases.

There was a hard-looking, expensively dressed blonde in a tight black dress behind the desk. She rose from it as Harry approached and she moved to greet him. Her manner was professionally distant and her eyes showed a look of contempt at Harry's manner of dress. He had purposefully dressed down, changing the brim of his fedora to make it look less stylish and more ridiculous, while transfiguring his glasses to be a little more outlandish, giving him the owlish look of a geeky academician.

"Can I be of assistance?" she asked, though her fake posh accent betrayed her phony veneer.

"Would you happen to have a _Ben Hur_ 1860?" Harry asked, pitching his voice high into the tenor range.

The woman made a visible effort to hang onto her composure. It was apparent that she was going to have trouble with Harry. "A first edition?"

"No, third – the one with the erratum on page one-sixteen," he responded easily.

"Er, I'm afraid not – at the moment," she murmured.

"How about a _Chevalier Audubon_ – the full set, of course?" he asked next.

"Uh, not at the moment…" Her smile was frozen in place.

Harry looked at her politely. "You do sell books?"

She decided to drop the act, pointing to the display books. "What do those look like – grapefruits?"

Harry looked at the display, making a point to peer through the thick-set lenses of his glasses. "They look like books, from here anyway. Maybe I'd better talk to Mr. Blott."

"He's not in at the moment," she responded sharply.

Harry glanced up as a man entered the store. He was middle-aged and important looking to judge by his dress, but he was rather incongruously furtive with a nervous manner. He looked quickly at Harry, then at the woman who gave him an almost imperceptible nod of warning. Harry appeared to remain blandly unaware of the byplay, all his attention on the pack of fags that he had taken out of his pocket. While his attention was riveted on the pack, the man walked quickly to the rear of the store. The woman pushed a button on the desk and a buzzer lock released a door. The man darted through it like a scared rabbit.

"I said Mr. Blott is not in," the woman said forcefully.

"I heard you. I'll just wait for him."

"He shan't be back until very late," she said in an even sharper tone than before.

The door in the back opened again and the furtive man came out of the rear part of the store and hurried out of the building, not looking at either of the other two occupants. His face was lined and haggard looking. Harry's interest was piqued, but he fought to keep that fact off of his face.

"He must have gotten the wrong title," he said to no-one in particular. He returned his gaze to the woman. "Well, I guess I had better go now. I'm already late for my lecture on Argentine cera-micks," he said, purposefully mispronouncing the word.

"The word is ceramics," she said icily, correcting him. "And they aren't Argentine: they're Egyptian…"

"You did sell a book once, didn't you?" Harry asked with a sneer. "Well, even the Argentine's a little too far for me today. Guess I'll just stick to the public library – or I could try that book store across the street."

The woman froze. "Do so," she said in a voice so cold Harry almost got frostbite. She stared viciously at his back until he was out the door. She then went to the door at the rear, knocked and went through.

Harry walked across the main street of Diagon Alley and entered into a small bookstore. 'The Nook', as the sign designated it, was a second-hand store, cluttered and dingy. A couple of non-descript people were browsing along the tables and shelves. At the rear a small, bushy-brown haired woman sat reading at a desk. Apparently she was the proprietor. Harry approached her, his smile broadening as he got closer. She looked up and a similar smile broke across her face.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, getting up to give him a hug.

"Hermione," he whispered into her ear as he returned the hug. "Would you do me a small favor?"

"I don't know. I shall if I can. What is it?" she asked.

"You know Blott's store across the street?"

"I may have passed it," Hermione said with a snort.

"You know Blott by sight?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "I should think it would be easy to go to his store and ask to see him," she said in her usual tone.

"I don't want to see him that closely, just yet," Harry replied. She didn't respond to him, waiting to see where he would take this. It seemed that she still knew him too well. "Know anything about rare books?" he asked innocently.

She glared at him for a moment. "You could try me," she said icily.

"Would you have a _Ben Hur_, 1860, third edition, with the duplicated line on page one-sixteen?" he blurted out. She pulled out a fat volume in front of her and started opening it. "Or a _Chevalier Audubon_ 1840…?"

Hermione stopped and closed the book. "Nobody would. There isn't one."

"Right you are my dear." Hermione gave him a puzzled look. "The girl in Blott's store didn't know that."

"I see, Harry. You're beginning to catch my interest – a little," she said with a smile.

"You know that I'm in the detective game now," Harry said. "Perhaps I'm asking too much…" He leaned forward and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "It didn't seem too much to me somehow…"

Hermione paused to lean into his hand. "In his early forties, medium height, fattish, soft all over, with a Charlie Chan mustache. Well dressed, goes without a hat, affects a knowledge of antiques and hasn't any, and oh yeah, his left eye is glass."

"You'd make a great Auror," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Only if he wore smoked glasses," she replied.

Harry laughed softly and pulled a flat pint flask from his pocket. "I shouldn't think that you'd have to work hard to start anything smoking." He shook the flask up and down, invitingly. She looked at him, searchingly, and then smiled slowly. She sauntered over to the last remaining customer and whispered something to him. The man got up and left the store. She followed him over to the storefront and pulled down a shade in the front window which allowed them to view out while blocking the view in. She flipped the sign from open to closed and locked the door.

"It's going to rain soon," she said softly as she turned to look at him, a smoldering look on her face.

"I'd rather get wet in here," Harry replied. His expression matched hers. She pulled open a drawer and took out two shot glasses, setting them on the desk in front of her. Harry smiled and started pouring.

"I already am," Hermione whispered in his ear as she lifted one of the glasses towards her lips…

**Author's Note: **Thus far, I am changing things so that the only one that Harry knows from his Hogwarts days is Hermione, and she only has a small role in this fic. She's obviously a lot closer to him than in canon, but I figure that over twenty years, things can develop... Ah well, now that this chapter's in the books it's on to work on the next installment of _Harry Potter's Army: A General's Lament. _

Thanks for the reviews. Keep them coming, as that's what we writers live for.

Sharptooth.

Oh, and if you get a chance, check out HJGrangerRocks' _The True Story of Harry and Hermione. _It's quite good. I'm enjoying each installment, and I get them first as I'm her Beta. It's good to be me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**Chapter Three**

Harry took the time while the rain came down to observe Hermione. She was both a little tight and almost totally relaxed. She was idly spinning a lock of her hair around a finger as she leaned back into him, a philosophical expression on her face. They sat there like that, on a stack of encyclopedias, watching the rain come down in sheets outside the small store. She forlornly picked up the now empty bottle and shook it, only to set it down again.

"A couple of hours," she sighed, "an empty bottle, and so long girly. That's life in Harry Potter's world…"

"But it was a nice two hours," Harry said softly into her ear, making her shiver slightly.

"Uh-huh," she said with a sigh. She looked out the window and her eyes narrowed. "That's Blott coming up the street."

"Who's the other guy?" Harry asked.

"Blott's shadow. They're almost never seen apart. I think his name's Thorfinn Rowle. Truth be told I think he was a Death Eater at one time. Now he's never far from Xavier Blott."

Harry had gotten up now, he was eager to follow Blott. "See you, Hermione," he said.

"If you ever want to buy a book, Harry…"

"A Ben Hur eighteen-sixty…" he said while placing a soft kiss on her forehead, and then he was gone.

"With duplications…" she sighed. "So long, Harry…"

*0*0*

It was a narrow street, wet with rain that had a high bank on one side and a scattering of cabin-like houses built down the slope on the other side, so that their roofs were not much above the street level. Each house front was marked by hedges and shrubs, while sodden trees lined the dark road.

The headlights of a car appeared in the distance. A small sedan pulled up and stopped in front of a garage of a small house almost completely hidden by a square box hedge. Xavier Blott got out and immediately opened an umbrella, only to vanish behind the hedge. Almost the same instant that he disappeared behind the hedge a periwinkle blue corvette slowly drove past. It turned around a ways down the road and slowly came back to stop under an overhanging tree. Without a sound the cars lights went out and it was engulfed in the darkness of the storm.

*0*0*

Harry yawned, struggling to stay awake under the constant drizzle of the rain. He reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out a small bottle of Ogden's and shook it reflectively.

"Another hour, another bottle – another girl?" he muttered darkly. He uncapped the bottle and saluted an unseen person wryly, taking a swig. With a sharp gasp as the harsh liquid burned down his throat he settled down for a long surveillance.

*0*0*

Harry looked at his watch as the sound of another vehicle brought him out of his torpor: almost midnight. The new car pulled up in front of Blott's house. The lights went out and a small slim woman in a vagabond hat and raincoat got out. She paused, looking around. Harry caught sight of her face. It seemed that Astoria Greengrass had decided to make an appearance… She vanished behind the hedge. A moment later the doorbell rang. A light shown briefly as the door opened and closed, admitting the young woman into the house.

Harry looked after Astoria, an unpleasant grin on his face. "Yeah – another girl…" he commented wryly. He decided to stay alert. The appearance of the Greengrass girl gave him the unwelcome feeling that things were probably going to pick up soon.

*0*0*

Harry looked at his watch once more: almost half-one. Harry yawned and contemplated getting out to stretch his legs. He should be able to stay hidden in the shadows tonight. As he was busy with this thought, a hard white flash of light shot out of Blott's house like a flash of lightning. Close on its heels there was a woman's thin, half-pleasurable scream. Harry was up and out of his car and on the move before the scream had died.

He rounded the hedge on the run. There was a wooden foot bridge spanning the gap between the bank and the front door. Harry covered this in two jumps and stopped in front of the door. The knocker was in the shape of a lion with a brass ring in its mouth. The irony wasn't lost on Harry, and he hesitated before grabbing the ring. As he put his hand on it the window flashed red and the tell-tale clap of a _reductor_ hex came from inside.

Harry froze. He could hear the dull thud of a body falling to the floor, and then footsteps going away. He looked over the railing of the bridge, but there was no apparent way to the back from here. He stood still, listening. There was a soft light filtering through the draperies. In the distance he could hear someone running down steps and out the back. A few moments later Harry heard a car door slamming and then the roar of an engine coming to life.

Harry jumped over the side of the bridge and dashed to the fence on the side of the garden. A car shot past and skidded around the turn and thundered down the street. Before it disappeared though, Harry saw a second car pull out from under some shrouding trees and follow in the distance. He narrowed his eyes in thought, then turned his attention back to the house.

He returned to the door, only to find it locked. With a sigh he pulled his wand. With a casual flick the door was open. He stepped in and quickly shut the door behind him. The room was wide, with a low-beamed ceiling and brown plaster walls with strips of Chinese embroidery and Oriental prints on them. Low bookshelves, a desk, thick rug floor cushions and low divans completed an exotic and messy atmosphere.

On a low dais at one end of the room was a carved teak wood chair. It was a massive thing, and sitting in it was Astoria Greengrass, rigidly erect, in the pose of an Egyptian goddess.

She was wearing a man's silk dressing gown. It certainly didn't fit, and it looked more like it had been hastily thrown on her by someone other than herself. She sat stock still, a queer, unfocused look in her eyes. She was paying no attention to Harry. She looked more as if in her mind, she was doing something important, and doing it rather well. She seemed pleased about it; her lips were curved in a slight smile. She would occasionally give a small, secretive laugh.

Opposite her, lying on the floor, was Xavier Blott, in front of a bust of an Oriental man. Atop the bust was a blackened flash bulb. The bust seemed to be focusing on the spot where Astoria was sitting. Blott was dressed in Oriental robes, though they were rapidly soaking through with blood. It was quite obvious to Harry that he was now very much dead.

Harry sniffed the air as he took all of this in. There was a heavy, unpleasant odor there. He crossed to a small lacquer table that had a flagon of dark liquid and two glasses. He sniffed the liquid and made a grimace of disgust. His thoughts went back many years to a lecture from one of his most despised professors: "_I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses....I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death._"

This most definitely fit the bill. He looked around and found Astoria's clothes wadded up and thrown on the divan. He picked up her coat and shoes and walked over to her. "Hello, remember me?"

If she took notice of him, he couldn't see it. Her soft, secret laughter was his only answer. He stepped closer and slapped her lightly across the face. This seemed to get a reaction, but only a slight one. He slapped her again, without emotion, but hard. Astoria came to, slightly, and gave him a sly, mad smile.

"You're higher than a kite on some potion. Come on, let's be nice. Let's get you dressed, Angel," Harry said. He started putting her shoes on her.

"You tickle," Astoria said with a giggle.

"Yeah, you tickle me too, Angel." He pulled her to her feet and put her coat on, taking great care not to dislodge the dressing gown. She fell against him, quite happy about it all, apparently ready to pass out. Harry wasn't particularly pleased. "Let's take a walk."

Astoria looked to only be about half-conscious. "You're cute," she purred.

"Sure, sure," he responded. "So's your boyfriend. Want to take a look at him? He walked her over to Blott's body. It proved to be hard work, and Astoria was not impressed.

"He's cute," she giggled.

"Cute. Yeah. Let's walk," Harry muttered. He walked her back and forth across the room a couple of times before she passed out in his arms, still convinced that everything was cute. He spread her out on the divan, unconsciously wiping his hands on his coat as though he had touched something quite dirty.

He returned to the Oriental bust. Finding a panel in the back he opened it to reveal a camera. He looked it over, but the film was missing. Figures. He frowned for a moment at Astoria, and then walked into the rear of the house, taking care not to disturb the body.

He passed quickly through the bath and kitchen, pausing to examine the open kitchen door which led into the back garden. There were scars plainly evident on the wooden frame where the door had been quickly forced open. The rain was blowing in freely now, obscuring details in pools of water. He then went to the bedroom. It was styled in keeping with the living room. He glanced briefly in the closet, then went over to the night stand next to the bed and picked up a key holder which had been placed on the stand. It appeared that Blott had emptied his pockets as there was a few sickles and a handkerchief there as well.

Harry returned to the living room and went over to sit in front of the desk. Finding the correct key he unlocked the desk and looked inside. In one drawer he found a locked steel box, which he quickly opened with another of Blott's keys. He took out a small leather bound book.

He leafed through it slowly, revealing an index and a lot of writing in code. It was written in the same slanting print as the cards that General Greengrass had given him. He placed the book in his pocket and used his wand to remove any evidence of his tampering with the box. He replaced it and locked it back in the desk. He pocketed the keys and made sure to turn off anything which might generate enough heat to start a fire.

He shrunk Astoria's clothes and put the bundle in one of his pockets. He jammed her hat on her head and picked her up. On the way out he kicked the door shut behind him and with a quick flick of his wand the door was once more locked. He paused for a moment, looking at the two cars parked there. Making up his mind he carried the sleeping girl to her car…

*0*0*

Harry stood atop the landing at the top of the stairs as he rang the doorbell to the Greengrass Manor. He waited impatiently for the butler to get to the door. It was almost three in the morning by now. The door opened to reveal Filch, who looked past Harry and saw Astoria's car parked behind him. He looked at Harry again – the same quiet, grave face with its expression of grief and sadness that Harry had started to associate with butler's encounters with Astoria.

Not surprisingly Filch's voice was quite and calm. "Good evening, sir."

"Is Mrs. Belby in?" Harry asked rapidly.

"Yes, sir. I'll get her." A moment later he was back, followed closely by Daphne.

"Mr. Potter, what's going on?" she asked, seeing Harry in the entryway.

"I've got your sister in the car. I could use a hand getting her in." He led the way and the two of them managed to get her inside. Harry carried the insensate woman into Daphne's room and laid her on the bed.

"Your sister has been here all night," Harry said quickly. "Her car has been parked her as well."

"That bad?" Daphne asked. Harry simply nodded.

"If she looks like she might say something about it, clamp down on her, understand?" Harry asked.

"Don't worry, she never remembers anything," Daphne said with a snort.

"She's been dosed with some sort of potion. I think she just needs to sleep it off, but keep a close watch on her. If she gets worse, call me." He handed her a business card. "Goodnight Mrs. Belby," he said as he turned to leave. He was met at the door by Filch.

"May I call you a cab, sir?" the old butler asked.

Harry paused. "No, in fact I'm not here. You haven't even seen me tonight – see?"

"Yes, sir," Filch said.

Harry and walked out into the rain. Once the door was shut he spun in place and disapparated away from the Greengrass home.

*0*0*

With a soft pop, Harry apparated next to his car. He stuck to the shadows and re-entered the Blott home. He crossed the room and lit his wand. As he looked around the room, not really sure why he has returned he froze. There, beneath the Oriental bust, was a large wet stain, but no body.

He crossed the room, wasting no time. He was determined to act quickly. He passed through the door into the bedroom beyond. Blott's body wasn't there. A quick search proved that the dead man was no longer in the house. He went back into the living room and squatted down next to the rug. He squinted as he stared at the surface of the rug. On the nap he could see scuff marks where Blott's heels were dragged across it. There was also a faint trail of blood where the heels had dragged across the floor towards the front door.

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully before pulling his wand and eradicating all evidence of his visit. With a turn he was back at his car. He opened the door and climbed in, leaving the Blott residence behind him.

*0*0*

Harry sat at a table in his living room, the code book that he had found at Blott's open before him, a highball at his hand as he struggled to work out the code. Unfortunately it seemed to be beyond his meager abilities at half-four in the morning. He reached for the glass, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. He slipped the book into a drawer and locked it.

Reluctantly, he forced his body into motion, as once more the knock came at his door. "All right, all right, keep your trousers on…"

He opened the door to reveal Kingsley Shacklebolt, a large, well dressed black man standing there with a somewhat bemused expression on his face. His face was slightly deceiving though, for Shacklebolt was a man who had been in close places in the course of his duties, and had killed several law breakers, at times when he was outnumbered and they thought he was covered and helpless until it was too late. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a pleasant man, affable to all, who respected courage, but had love for none save himself.

"Well, Kingsley?" Harry asked, "don't you ever go to bed?

Kingsley stepped through the door. "My, what a beautiful expression you have! Tut, tut – a man your age, out on the town all night…"

"I've been right here," Harry murmured.

"That's even worse," Kingsley laughed as he sat down.

"All right," Harry scowled. "What is it?"

"Does it have to be something?" Kingsley asked.

"Look, Kingsley, when my old partner from the Aurors comes over to see me at…" he glanced at his watch, "half-four, it can't be something good…"

"You're working for the Greengrasses, aren't you?" Kingsley asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied warily.

"Done anything for them yet?"

"How could I do anything yesterday in all that rain?" Harry asked.

Kingsley laughed. It was a rumbling sound that started somewhere deep in his chest. "Alright – they seem to be a family that things happen to. A big Buick that belonged to one of them is washing around in the Thames by Westminster. Oh, and I almost forgot, there's a guy in it."

"Baddock?" Harry asked flatly after a pause.

"Who? Oh, you mean that Irish ex-con who Greengrass hired to do his drinking for him? What would he be doing down there?" He watched Harry's face narrowly, but he got no information from it.

"What would anybody be doing down there?" Harry responded.

"That's what I'm going down to the Thames to find out. You want to come?"

"Thanks, Kingsley," Harry said with a shrug. "Yeah, give me a couple of minutes and I'll be right with you." Shacklebolt looked after him, a slight frown on his face as Harry left to pull on some fresh clothing.

*0*0*

As they drove Kingsley reached over and started the siren. "It isn't Baddock," he said. "I checked up. Baddock's a big guy, tall as me and a shade heavier. This is a young kid. What made you think it was Baddock?"

"Who is it?" Harry asked. "Don't they know yet?"

"Now, now, behave. What made Baddock skip out? Or aren't you interested in that either?"

"Why should I be?" Harry asked.

"Isn't that what Greengrass hired you for then?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Cant' a guy quit a job anymore without notifying the Ministry?" Harry quipped.

"When an ex-convict gets himself hired into a job where all he's got to do is sit in a greenhouse and drink a millionaire's brandy, when he throws that job up…"

"I'm not looking for Baddock," Harry said sharply.

"Okay, keep it buttoned, kid," Kingsley said.

"General Greengrass told you to send me out to him. But he never told me I was to report to you," Harry said crossly.

"I said, keep it buttoned, didn't I? After all, you got to eat too – even if I don't know why."

"Sometimes I don't know either," Harry muttered under his breath.

It wasn't long before they were there. The stood before a faded stucco arch, a pier stretching out away from where they were. Beside the arch a police car was parked, along with several motorcycles. The long pier, railed with faded white two-by-fours ran out over the water. There was police tape stretched across the pier, and a crowd of curious on-lookers was starting to gather. Shacklebolt and Harry approached an Auror posted as a guard. Kingsley nodded to the man and the two stepped under the tape.

"The medical examiner come yet?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Beat you be fifteen minutes," the Auror replied. "He's probably examining the guy now."

Kingsley nodded and the two made their way down the pier. The end of a pier had a shattered gap in the railing where a car had crashed through it. While Harry watched Aurors were busy levitating the car out of the water and up to the pier. A couple of men were carrying a stretcher with a body under a sheet, the medical examiner walking along with them. Kingsley stopped them before they could pass.

"Wait a minute," he rumbled. He reached out and pulled the sheet down off of the dead man's face. He looked back at Harry. "You want a look?"

Harry took a look at the man. Shacklebolt replaced the sheet and motioned the group on. They walked over to where the Aurors had placed the car. Shacklebolt found an Auror and confronted the man. "What's the story?"

"You can see most of it from here," the man replied. Went through the rail yonder. Must have hit it pretty hard. The rain stopped down here about nine P.M. The broken ends of the rails are dry in side. That would put it about half-nine last night."

"Drinking?" Shacklebolt asked.

"If so then he must have been that guy you hear about that always drives better drunk. He plowed an awful straight furrow down that pier, right to the end of it. Then he hit the railing right square head-on – hard and clean – or he wouldn't have gone through it."

"Alright," Kingsley said. "Suicide then?"

"The throttle was stuck all the way down. Something hit him a pretty hard lick across the right temple."

Kingsley turned to the medical examiner who had just joined them. "Alright, doc, let's have it."

"His neck was broken," the healer stated.

"What made the bruise on his temple then? The steering wheel?" Kingsley asked.

"It was made by something covered. The wound had already bled under the skin while he was alive."

"A blackjack or sap?" Harry asked.

They all turned around and looked at Harry. "I'd forgotten about you," Kingsley said. "Let's go back to town."

So you recognized him," Kingsley said as they walked back towards the car.

"Yeah, he was Greengrass' chauffeur. I saw him yesterday washing that same car at the manor," Harry answered.

"So that was what Greengrass wanted with you."

"Look," Harry said, "I don't even know his name…"

"I do," Kingsley said. "His name was Owen Vaisley. About a year or so back he did a run with Greengrass' daughter off to Cornwall. The older sister runs after them and brought the girl back and had Vaisley thrown in a cell. Then the next day she comes and begs the kid off – said that the kid meant to marry the sister, only the sister can't see it. So they let the kid go, and darned if the Greengrasses don't have him come back to work, same as if nothing happened."

"And now somebody'll have to go see them about this," Harry said softly.

"Yep, that's me, probably," Kingsley replied just as softly.

"Leave the old man out of it, if you can" Harry said. "He's got enough troubles already besides being sick."

"Baddock, huh?"

"I don't know anything about Baddock," Harry replied. "I told you that."

"Then what are you doing in this," Shacklebolt asked him.

"I'm not looking for Baddock," I can tell you that much," Harry said firmly.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," Shacklebolt said dryly as they made to get into the car.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**Chapter Four**

Harry entered the storefront to Flourish and Blott's once again, wearing the same outfit as before. As before, the blonde woman was there, and this time she didn't even bother to hide her unhappiness at seeing Harry in her store.

Harry walked briskly up to her and in a jaunty tone said "Hello – I'm back again. Is Mr. Blott in?"

"I'm afraid not. No," she replied. She looked somewhat nervous actually.

Harry looked around to make sure that they were alone, then he removed the glasses and moved closer to the woman. "It was just a stall about those first editions," he said quietly. "I've got something to sell, something that Blott's wanted for a long time…"

"Oh – I see… well – you might come back tomorrow, I think…" she stammered.

"Drop the veil, sister," Harry growled. "I'm in the business too." She stared at him, scared stiff, not knowing what to do or say to get rid of him.

"I haven't got forever, Angel. Is he sick? I could go up to the house…"

"No!" she said frantically. "That wouldn't do any good – he's… he's out of town. Couldn't you come tomorrow?"

Harry glanced up sharply as Thorfinn Rowle, the dark, handsome shadow of Xavier Blott's opened the door in the rear wall. Behind him, through the open door Harry could see the back room, littered with the papers and boxes of hurried packing, and a gaunt, hard-looking man in the midst of it, cramming folios and stacks of large-sized envelopes into the packing boxes. Thorfinn was obviously strained and under tension, looking as if he hadn't slept the previous night.

"Pansy, you've got to…" Thorfinn began. He became aware of Harry and shut up abruptly, than slammed the door shut. From behind the partition his voice rose, sharp and unintelligible, answered by a heavier, man's voice. No words came through, but the implication was clear: shut up and get out. A door slammed violently, and a stricken look passed over Pansy's face. Harry put his glasses back on and touched his hat.

"Tomorrow, then… early," he said.

"Yes, early," she replied shakily.

Before Harry could quite leave she had darted back through the back door.

He walked rapidly along Diagon Alley, tossing a quick salute towards the window of the Nook across the way, receiving a beaming grin from the bushy haired woman who was there. Exiting through the Leaky Cauldron into Muggle London he quickly spotted a taxi a short ways up the curb. He approached and stuck his head in the window. A smart, competent looking young woman was reading a pulp magazine behind the wheel. Her hair was long and flowing, a vibrant red color, and Harry couldn't help but notice how very cute her freckles looked as they were caught in the sunlight.

"I would have to pick a girl at this point," he muttered in a slightly disgusted tone.

The cabby gave him a cold stare. "Anything you want, bud, I can give you."

"And with both fists too, I'll bet," he said with a grin. "Tail job?"

"You a Bobby?" she asked, biting her lower lip slightly.

"Private," he replied.

She laid the magazine down on the seat next to her. "Hop in," she said brightly. Harry looked briefly at the magazine as he opened the door and got in the back: _Doc Savage: Man of Bronze_. On the cover was a picture of a veritable giant of a man, his bronze skin glistening. He had a tight cropped cap of hair on his head, also a vibrant bronze. In his arms was a buxom blonde, who was firing some sort of Muggle machine gun, her face a contorted mask of rage.

Harry grinned from ear to ear. "Alright kid," he said as he got in, "take it."

She slapped the meter. "Got it," she exclaimed. A light panel truck came out of an alley in front of them and went down the street. Harry recognized the gaunt, hard-looking from the back of Blott's store. He leaned forward and gave the cabby a high sign, and she pulled out to follow.

*0*0*

Eventually they pulled into Wembly and into the residential district located there. The truck pulled into an underground garage for one of the apartment buildings there: The Randall Arms. The cabby pulled up in front of the apartment entrance. Harry got out and walked towards the entrance. The entrance led into a small foyer, which had a door entering into a much larger room. He glance around the foyer and noticed a series of mailboxes set in one wall. He glanced through the door inside, and satisfied that he wouldn't be immediately disturbed looked at the names under the mail drops. One name in particular caught his eye: Peregrine Derrick. He tapped the name knowingly, and giving the foyer one last glance, turned and went back to the cab.

Getting in the cab he gave the cabby some directions and they were off. After a little while they were pulling up outside of the non-descript building that Harry maintained his office in in Greenwich.

"Nice going kid," he said as he handed her a hundred pound note. "Buy yourself an orchid. A white one would look fantastic in that mop of yours."

"Thanks," she said as her face turned almost as red as her hair. "You can take my number in case you have anymore jobs you want done right." She handed him a business card: Ginevra Weasley, Mini Cabs. "I mean this number," she said as she pointed to the serial number on her driver's cap.

"What number did you think I thought you meant?" Harry asked, grinning madly at her. Her cheeks flushed again and she was clearly flustered as she clashed the gears savagely as she shot the cab away. Harry tipped his hat to her as she drove off.

It didn't take long for Harry to be standing outside a door on the fifth floor. The window on the door had gold lettering: Harry Potter Investigations. He opened the door and stepped in. It was a small room, cheaply furnished, with a closed door in one wall. Sitting on a low couch, obviously waiting for him was Daphne Belby. She was beautifully if simply dressed, in a hound's tooth business suit and skirt. She was quite at ease and seemed to be in a better humor this morning as she smiled at a surprised Harry.

"Well, you do exist after all," she said with humor in her voice. "I was beginning to think I had dreamed you out of a bottle of bad fire whiskey." She continued on with an underlying hint of seriousness. "I've been trying to get you on the phone all morning."

"You can insult me just as well face to face," he replied. "I don't bite – much."

"I suppose I was rather rude," she said apologetically.

"An apology from a Greengrass?" he said in mock amazement. He unlocked the connecting door and held it open for her. "Come into my boudoir."

Like the waiting room, the inner room is shabby and small. The usual desk, chairs and filing cabinets that one would expect to find in an investigator's office are there. Daphne sat in one of the chairs.

"You don't put on much of a front," she said, looking around.

"You can't make a lot of money at this trade, if you're honest," he replied easily. "If you have a front, you're making money, or expect to."

"Oh – are you honest?" she asked.

"Painfully," he said with a touch of sarcasm. "People seem to like that about me..."

"How did you get in this slimy business, then?" she asked.

Harry gave her a look that plainly said he didn't appreciate her choice of words. "Because people like you pay good money to have the slime cleaned up," he snarled a little more vehemently than he would have liked. She looked away from him, angry but unable to say anything. He sat down behind his desk. "What did you want to see me about? Vaisley?"

Her response was so soft that Harry had to strain to hear it. "Poor Owen. So you know about that?"

"An Auror took me down to the river. Turned out that he knew more about it than I did. He knew Owen Vaisley wanted to marry your sister – once." He looked at her, gauging her response.

"Perhaps it wouldn't have been a bad idea," she whispered softly. He was in love with her. We don't find much of that in our circle…" She changed her tone and spoke up now. "But I didn't come to see you about Owen. Do you feel yet that you can tell me what my father wants you to do?"

"Not without his permission," Harry responded.

"Was it about Astoria?" she asked.

"I can't even say that," he replied. She watched him for a minute and then gave in with a shrug of her shoulders. Her hair rippled as she did so. She took a thick white envelope out of her bag and tossed it on the desk.

"You'd better look at this anyway," she said to him. Harry examined the envelope. It was white, of common stock and very plain. It was addressed to Daphne Belby or General Greengrass. "A messenger delivered it this morning."

"Eight-thirty-five it says," Harry replied. "For you or your father." He opened the envelope, taking out a medium sized photograph. Harry's eyebrows raised as he looked at it. He let out a low whistle. "So that's what Astoria looks like," he said under his breath. "How much do they want for this?"

"Five thousand galleons – for the negative and the rest of the prints. The deal has to be closed tonight or they give the picture to some scandal sheet." She grimaced as she thought of what it would do to her father.

"The demand came how?" he asked.

"A woman telephoned me, shortly after this thing was delivered," she said in a voice that clearly indicated what she thought of it.

"There's nothing in the scandal sheet angle. Juries convict on that racket without even leaving the box to deliberate. What else is there?"

"Does there have to be something else?" she asked. Harry nodded, his face uncompromising. "The woman said that there was an Auror jam connected with it, and I'd better lay it on the line fast or I'd be talking to my little sister in Azkaban."

"What kind of a jam?" Harry asked, deadpan.

"I don't know," Daphne replied.

"Where's Astoria now?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

"She's at home – still in bed, I think. She was sick last night."

"She go out at all after I left?"

"The elves say that she didn't. I was up in Enfield playing roulette at Draco Malfoy's Cypress Club. I lost my shirt," she added with a wry laugh.

"So you like roulette – you would."

"Yes," she responded. "The Greengrasses all like losing games. The Greengrasses can afford to. The Greengrasses have money," she said bitterly. "All it's bought them is a rain check."

"What was Owen doing with your car last night?" Harry asked, changing the subject again.

"Nobody knows. He took it without permission. Do you think…?" she gasped.

"That he knew about this photo?" He shrugged. "I don't rule him out. Can you get five thousand in cash right away?"

"I can borrow it, probably from Draco Malfoy she said sardonically. "There's a bond between us, you see. Malcolm Baddock ran away with Draco's blonde wife."

Harry turned away from her for a pause. "You may need the money in a hurry."

"What about telling the Aurors?" she asked.

"You know better than that," he said sharply. "The Aurors might turn up something they couldn't sit on – and where would the Greengrasses be then?" He paused. "How was it left?"

"The woman said that she'd call me back with instructions at five," Daphne said.

"Alright, call me here as soon as you've heard from her," Harry instructed.

"Can you do anything?" she asked.

"I think so, but I can't tell you how – or why."

"I like you," she laughed. "You believe in miracles."

Harry laughed with her. "I believe in people believing they're smarter than they are – if that's a miracle. Have a drink?" he asked. He reached down into the desk drawer and pulled out a flask.

"I'll have two drinks," she said.

Harry grinned at her. He took out two glasses and filled them, taking one and handing the other to her. They saluted before they started to drink, only to find their eyes meeting over the rims and refusing to come apart. Daphne broke the look, but not because she was shy or coy, but because suddenly her face was filled with sadness. Her gaze dropped briefly, then returned to Harry, clear, steady and sad.

"You're a lot like Malcolm Baddock," she said softly.

Harry looked at her, almost with tenderness and understanding. "You want to tell me now or later?" he asked.

"What?"

"What you're so anxious to find out," he replied.

"It couldn't be – you."

"Let's do one thing at a time," Harry said softly.

She rose from her seat. "I think we've done enough for one day…"

"Want another drink?" Harry said gently. "You did say you wanted two."

"No," she said as she made her way towards the door. Harry sat his glass down on the desk and picked up the envelope.

"You forgot this," he said softly. She turned by the door as he approached her, holding her hand out for the envelope. Harry gave it to her, but didn't let go of it.

It was evident that they weren't thinking about the envelope. Harry slowly leaned down to her. She leaned back against the door, her lips parted, her eyes soft and misted with tears. Harry's mouth covered hers. The kiss was soft and gentle at first, then growing in passion until it turned soft once more. As they broke apart Daphne put her hand on Harry's cheek.

"Your face is like Malcolm's too – clean and thin, with hard bones under it…" She turned, neither slow nor fast, away from him and opened the door, leaving a dazed Harry looking after her.

**Author's Note: **It's a little shorter than I like posting, but this seemed to be the perfect spot to end the chapter.

I realize that the plot it taking a while to develop, but good noir is like that. It drags out in the beginning and middle, and comes together at the end. There is still quite a ways to go, I hope that you'll all stick with it. This is my first attempt at noir, but I'm liking it. I have a couple of others to do, one with Harry and Hermione, and one with a Harry/Hannah/Neville triangle.

I'm trying to get through another chapter of "Harry Potter's Army: A General's Lament, but I've hit writer's block. I know what I want to accomplish, but I'm struggling with it. I write a little each day... Hopefully sometime soon I can break through. In the meantime I'll continue on with this one as I seem to be able to write on it.

Thanks for supporting me, all of you that have reviewed.

Sharptooth


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**Chapter Five**

Harry found himself once again parked just a short ways off from the one time home of Xavier Blott. He was parked unobtrusively under some trees a reasonable distance away. He sat patiently, his hat pushed to the back of his head and his collar loosened, waiting for someone to show up, for he deemed it inevitable that someone would. It was that kind of a case.

It wasn't long before he heard the tell-tale crack of an apparition. Gazing around calmly, it wasn't long before he spotted a feminine form appearing from behind a hedge. He pulled out a pair of field glasses and looked to see who it was. You had to love Muggles and their devices.

Not surprisingly, Harry saw that it was Astoria Greengrass. He let her get inside the hedge and then got out of his corvette and followed her in. He must have done something to give himself away, for when he got inside the hedge he saw her there, standing in an attitude of horror, her back pressed against the wall beside the front door, staring at him as he entered.

She raised her wand with one hand and clenched her opposite thumb in her teeth as she stared at him. It appeared that she recognized him, for the look of abject terror faded a little as she took him in. She was dressed in Muggle attire, and Harry noticed that she was trembling slightly.

"Remember me now, don't you?" he asked slowly. "Doghouse Reilly, the man that didn't grow tall, remember?"

She seemed to be making an effort to appear natural. "Is this your doghouse?" she asked.

"Sure," Harry replied. "Let's go inside, huh?"

"Inside?" she said, cringing and shrinking back.

"You wanted to get in, didn't you?" Harry asked. He brushed past her and unlocked the door with a flick of his wand and pushed it open. "In with you," he said bruskly as he grabbed her and shoved her in ahead of him before following her in.

He shut the door behind them and looked at her. She was standing still, gazing around the room. She felt his eyes on her and looked back, smiling at him. He didn't return the smile, and it slowly faded from her countenance.

"How much do you remember about last night?" he asked.

"Remember what? I was sick last night. I stayed home." She glared at him.

"Sure you were," he said easily. "I mean before you went home. In that chair yonder – on that orange shawl while they were taking pictures. Quit stalling," he said sharply. She started to put her thumb to her mouth. "And stop biting your thumb, too."

"You were the one?" she asked suddenly.

"Me," he replied. "How much do you remember?"

"Are you an Auror?" she asked.

"No, I'm a friend of your father's." He paused for a moment. "Who killed him?"

"Who else… knows?" she said faintly.

"About Blott? Not the Aurors, or they'd be camping here." He paused again. "Maybe Peregrine Derrick."

"Peregrine Derrick? Who's he?" she asked.

"Sure Angel," he said in a tone of disgust. "Not Steve Derrick, not Willie Derrick: Peregrine Derrick. Did Peregrine kill him?"

"Kill who?" she replied.

"Look sister, I don't know how much trouble you're accustomed to, but I hope you've had plenty of practice dodging it, because you've got a lot of it coming your way.

She nodded her head. "Yes, Peregrine did it."

"Why?" he asked. "Seen much of him lately?"

"No!" she exploded. "I hate him!"

"So, you're all ready to tell the Aurors he did it, huh?" he asked quickly as she stared at him. "That is, if we can just get rid of that photograph Blott made last night."

"Photograph? What photograph?" she said, sounding puzzled.

Harry shook his head. Could she really be that dumb? Somehow he doubted it. "Just like last night. What a scream we are: Greengrass and Reilly, two stooges in search of a comedian."

"Your name isn't really Reilly," Astoria said. "It's Potter. Daphne told me."

"So you are beginning to remember," Harry replied. "And you came back to look for the photograph, but you couldn't get into the house." She glared at him. "The photo's gone. I looked for it last night. Derrick took it with him."

"I've got to go home now," she said quickly.

"Sure," Harry replied. "But I wouldn't tell the Aurors about Derrick yet. Don't even tell a soul you were ever here – either last night or today. Not even Daphne. Leave it to old Doghouse Reilly. Can you apparate home?" She nodded. He motioned for her to precede him out the door.

"You're not going to tell anyone we were here, are you?"

"That depends," she said, giving him a swooning look. "I never tell on people who are nice to me." Her look turned inviting, languishing in an attitude that was a caricature of what her older sister's might be. Harry grasped her arm almost savagely, turning her towards the door.

"Come on, get out of here…" He stopped, reacting to the sound of feet beyond the door. As they paused the doorbell rang. While they stared at each other, Astoria almost drooling in terror, the bell rang again. A key turned in the lock and a moment later the door opened. A man entered the room quickly and stopped dead, staring at them. He was tall and slender, with sleek, silverfish hair slicked back on his head, his hairline starting to recede. He had cold grey eyes and a pale complexion. His sharp, angular features suited him well, giving him a handsome countenance.

"Excuse the casual entrance," he drawled, his accent very posh and aristocratic. "The bell didn't answer. Is Mr. Blott around?"

"No," Harry responded. "We don't know where he is. We found the door open and stepped in."

"I see," the man said, looking sharply at Harry. "Friends of his?"

"Just business," Harry said easily. "We dropped in for a book."

The man stared hard at Harry, who stared back just as hard. "But we missed him," Harry continued. He took Astoria's arm and pushed her towards the door to pass the stranger. "So we'll just trot along."

As he was about to shoulder the man aside to pass, the man stepped aside until Astoria was passed him, and then he moved in between Harry and the door. "The girl can go, but I'd like to talk to you a little." Harry stared at him, then made a slight motion towards his wand holster. "Don't try it," the man drawled. "I've got two boys outside in the car."

He turned and opened the door. Astoria scuttled through it. He shut the door behind her and looked around the room. "There's something wrong here," he said. "I intend to find out what it is. If you want to be hexed into next week, go ahead…"

"A tough guy," Harry said softly. The man didn't answer. He walked into the room looking around. Harry watched him, biding his time. He looked around, finally seeing the bust that Harry had examined the night before. He walked over to it and stopped suddenly when he moved the small rug below it with his toe. He knelt down and examined it, then rose quickly. As he did so his wand was in his hand, pointed at Harry.

"Blood, on the floor there, under the rug. Quite a lot of it, actually."

"Is that so?" Harry asked in an interested tone.

The man slid into a chair behind the desk, still watching Harry, hooked the telephone toward him with his wand, then shifted his wand into his left hand and put his right hand on the telephone. He didn't do anything with it yet though. "I think we'll have the Aurors," he said slowly.

Harry approached slowly, his hands out while the man watched him. He looked down at the stain, pretending to have seen it for the first time. "That's a lot of blood. It's dried," he said with a low whistle.

"Just the same, we'll have the Aurors," the man repeated.

"Why not?" Harry shrugged.

"Just who are you?" the man asked.

"Potter's the name. I'm a private detective," Harry answered.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," the man responded. "Who's the girl?"

"A client. Blott was trying to throw a loop on her. We came to talk it over. Blott wasn't here."

"Convenient," Malfoy said with a snort. "The door being open, when you didn't have a key."

"Wasn't it?" Harry replied. "By the way, how did you happen to have one?"

"Is that any of your business?" Malfoy asked.

"I could make it my business," Harry said in a low, dangerous tone.

"And I could make your business mine," Malfoy responded in the same tone. His smile was tight on his features.

"You wouldn't like it. The pay's too small," Harry quipped.

"I own this house," Malfoy said suddenly. "Blott is my tenant. Now what do you think of it?"

"You know some nice people," Harry said sarcastically.

"I take them as they come," Malfoy said. He looked down at his wand and shrugged, placing it back in his pocket. "Got any ideas, detective?"

"One or two," Harry replied. "Somebody hexed Blott. Somebody got hexed by Blott, who ran away. Or, Blott was running a cult and made blood sacrifices in front of that bust there. Or he had meat for dinner and does his butchering in the front parlor." Malfoy scowled at him. "Alright, I'll give up then. Call your friends the Aurors."

"I don't get it," Malfoy hissed. "I still don't get your game here."

"Don't you, Mr. Malfoy?" He met Malfoy's stare steadily. Malfoy's face went hard.

"You seem to be telling me Blott was in some sort of racket. What racket would that be?"

"I don't know, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said. "I'm not his landlord. And I'll tell you something else you missed. Somebody cleaned out whatever was in the back room of his book shop today."

Malfoy stared at Harry for a long moment. Harry deliberately took out a fag and started to light it.

"You talk too much," Malfoy hissed.

While Harry stood there, a fag in his mouth and a match in his hand, Malfoy whipped out his wand again and held it on Harry. He whistled shrilly. There was the sound of a car door slamming, and then the sound of running feet.

"Open the door," Malfoy commanded.

"Open it yourself," Harry said coolly. "I've already got a client."

Malfoy rose, still holding the wand on Harry and crossed the floor towards the door as the sound of running feet got closer. He reached the door and opened it, allowing two men to plunge into the room, already reaching inside their coats. Both were tall, though one was quite on the heavy side. The other is slim, with a receding hairline. Both had rather vacant expressions on their faces.

"Look him over," Malfoy drawled, jerking his head at Harry.

The slim man flicked out a wand and covered Harry while the heavy set one frisked him. Harry turned slowly and helped the man to search, all the while keeping him away from his hidden wand holster and affecting the air of a bored beauty modeling a gown in a shop.

"He's clean," the heavy set thug said.

"Find out who he is," Malfoy ordered.

The thug reached into Harry's breast pocket and drew out his wallet. He flipped it open and studied the contents. "He's a shamus," he said after a moment's pause. The thug swung his fist at Harry, but harry was too fast for him. He caught his wrist and wrenched it sharply and suddenly so that the wallet was now in Harry's hand. His seeker reflexes were still with him, it seemed.

"That's enough!" Malfoy said sharply. "Beat it." The thug stopped sullenly, only to glare at Harry. "I said outside," Malfoy said in a coldly vicious voice. Both of the thugs withdrew. "Alright, talk," Malfoy said to Harry.

Harry deliberately finished lighting his faggot, and then blew the smoke at Malfoy. "Not to you," he said with a smirk. "I told you I've already got a client."

"Who cleaned out the back of Blott's store," Malfoy growled.

"Quite a shower we had yesterday," Harry said. "Did it rain up there in Enfield?"

Malfoy snarled in impotent rage. "I might even make it worth your while to talk to me." He almost slammed his wand on the table in his anger.

"That's the spirit," Harry said as he blew another puff of smoke at Malfoy. "Leave the wand out of it. I can always hear money. How much of it are you clinking at me?"

He did slam the wand on the table this time. "I ask you a question and you ask me another. My guess is, you need some help yourself, so cough up."

"Not me," Harry replied. "It's Blott's kinfolk that need help – provided a man like Blott had anybody who loved him and will care who bumped him off. So I'd better give what I know to the Aurors, which puts it in public domain and don't leave me anything to sell. So I guess I'll drift." He started to make a move towards the door and then stopped. "So," he said easily, "how's Mrs. Malfoy these days?"

Malfoy's hand jerked at the wand, before he regained his composure. He glared at Harry. "Beat it," he whispered, barely containing his rage. Harry moved easily and unhurriedly towards the door.

He made his way slowly and easily down the street to his car. As he passed Malfoy's car he looked up and tested the air as if seeing if it was going to rain. He smiled at the two thugs and got into his corvette. He whistled a jaunty tune as he drove past them and out of sight.

**Author's note: **Another quick chapter in the books. I hope you enjoy it. I'll try to post again in a couple of days.

Sharptooth


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**Chapter Six**

Harry sat at his desk in his office, an open bottle of bourbon in front of him, and numerous fags stubbed out in an ashtray. He stared at the phone, almost willing it to ring. He glanced at his wristwatch and then back at the phone. He let out a sigh and grabbed the bottle, taking a long belt off of it. As he set the bottle back down the phone rang. He grabbed it almost desperately.

"Yeah… what's the news?" he asked. "Nothing – you mean they haven't called you?" He smiled sardonically. "Mrs. Belby, you are not a very good liar. I thought you were going to trust me…" He jerked the phone away from his ear with exaggerated haste. "Why, Mrs. Belby!" he exclaimed.

He slowly lowered the receiver back into the cradle. It would do no good to stay on the line now, as she had ended the call at her end. He stared at the phone for a good three minutes, as shockingly serious expression on his face. "You crazy bloody fool…" he said in the direction of the phone, half in admiration, half in anger. He got up and strode to the door, grabbing his hat as he left.

*0*0*

He sat, parked across from the Randall Arms apartments, his custom corvette charmed to be a gun-metal grey. He was leaned back in his seat, his fedora pulled down so that the brim of the hat obscured his eyes from casual view. He didn't have to wait for long, as sure enough, Daphne Belby drove up and parked across from him. She got out and looked quickly around, then headed inside the building. Harry quickly got out of the car, and making sure nobody was watching, disillusioned himself.

Once inside and on the stairs, Harry released the spell and proceeded up to the fourth floor. He knew where Daphne was heading. It really didn't take a gumshoe to figure it out, but Harry decided that he liked it when things went the way he thought they should. He walked down the hall from the stairs to room 405 and pressed the doorbell. As he waited he could hear the radio coming from one of the other apartments. He filed the song away as he did with all extraneous information: _Common People_ by _Pulp_.

The door opened slowly, just enough for Harry to see the man who stood behind it. He had seen him before, in the back room of Flourish and Blotts. This must be Peregrine Derrick. He looked steadily at Harry, but didn't speak. He held the door with his right hand, a faggot smoldered in the corner of his mouth.

"Blott?" Harry asked.

Derrick waited for a bit, then answered. "You said what?"

"Blott. Xavier Hamish Blott. The guy with the blackmail racket." Derrick's right hand dropped slowly out of sight – Harry got the impression he was reaching for his wand.

"Don't know anybody by that name," Derrick responded. Harry gave him a hard smile, not that Derrick seemed to like it at all.

"You're Peregrine Derrick," Harry said.

"So what?" Derrick replied.

"So you're Peregrine Derrick and you don't know anybody named Blott. That's very funny," Harry smirked.

"Yeah?" Derrick said. You got a funny sense of humor. Take it away and play with it somewhere else." Harry leaned against the door and gave him a dreamy smile.

"You got Blott's stuff, Peregrine. I got his sucker list. We ought to talk things over."

Derrick glanced sideways into the room, then looked back at Harry. "There's plenty of time to talk. Make it tomorrow, bud." He started to close the door. Harry bared his teeth and shoved the door in against Derrick, viciously.

"We'll make it now," he said pleasantly as he stepped into the apartment. It was a pleasant room, nicely furnished. There were French doors opening onto a balcony. Near the French doors was a closed door, and near that door there was another door with a heavy curtain drawn over it. Harry closed the door behind him, not taking his eyes off of Derrick.

Derrick stood still, his hand frozen underneath his coat, his eyes wolfish. After a pause he let his hand drop and shrugged his shoulders, turning away. "Why not, if you think you've got something."

Harry smiled, glancing at the curtained doorway. A woman's shoes showed below the edge of the curtain. "You alone, Peregrine?"

"Yeah," he growled menacingly.

Harry stepped over to the curtain and lifted it high enough to show a very spiffy leg – Daphne's in fact, if he wasn't mistaken. He took a moment to admire it. "I could be alone with that almost anytime." He dropped the curtain down again and went over to the davenport to sit down, tossing his hat beside him. Derrick picked up a box of cigars from a nearby table and walked to an easy chair opposite of him so he too could sit down.

"Well, I'm listening," he said impatiently. He dropped his faggot stub into a tray and put a cigar between his lips. "Cigar?" he asked Harry. He tossed one to Harry, and as he reached out to catch it Derrick pulled his wand and covered him. Harry simply relaxed down into the davenport, almost like a steel spring uncoiling.

"Okay, stand up, slowly," Derrick growled.

Harry didn't move. Instead he smiled that sardonic smile. "My, my – such a lot of wands around town, and so few brains. You're the second guy I've met today who seems to think a wand in the hand means the world by the tail. Put it down Peregrine," he said derisively. As Derrick's scowl deepened Harry scoffed. "The other guy's name was Draco Malfoy. Ever hear of him?"

"No," Derrick said. _Where did these guys come from?_ Harry wondered.

"If he ever gets wise to where you were last night in the rain – you'll hear of him," Harry muttered.

"What would I be to Draco Malfoy?" Derrick asked as he lowered the wand slightly.

"Not even a memory," Harry scoffed.

"Don't get me wrong," Derrick said. "I'm not a tough guy – just careful."

"You're obviously not careful enough. That play with Blott's stuff was terrible. I saw it, you know," Harry said. "I don't think that Blott's boyfriend liked it."

"Thorfinn Rowle?" Derrick asked. "That punk?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Punk burns, sometimes." He raised his voice to the curtain door. "You might as well come out, Daphne. Derrick's decided not to hex me just yet." As Daphne emerged from behind the curtain Harry continued. "Oh, yeah, you might as well bring out the blonde with you."

Daphne came out, followed by Pansy. Daphne looked strained, angry, almost indomitable. Pansy simply looked vicious.

"Hello, sugar," Harry said to Pansy.

Pansy gave him a sour look. "Hello – trouble!" She flounced down on the arm of an overstuffed chair. Derrick watched, his eyes hard and narrow, his face expressionless. Daphne stood looking down at Harry. She definitely did not look glad to see him!

"So you don't really believe in miracles – or me," Harry said softly.

"I've learned not to believe in anything," she replied. "I don't need you, Potter. I don't know how you got here, but I don't want you. Why don't you leave?"

"But darling, the man with the wand won't let me. Look – he's all bothered and curious, wondering about stuff," Harry said sarcastically.

"Yeah," Derrick said menacingly. "You bet I'm wondering." He looked sharply from Daphne to Harry, then to Pansy. "Pansy, put some more light on so I can see to curse if I have to." He looked to Daphne as Pansy switched on another lamp. "You, sit down, and keep quiet."

"Peregrine," Daphne started, "I swear I didn't have anything to do…"

Harry tugged on her arm in an attempt to get her to sit next to him. "Don't argue with the man. Here…" He took her handbag and hefted it, satisfying himself that there was still a wad of cash in it and grinned with satisfaction. He set it down on the couch. "Sit on this, baby… go ahead. You won't need it."

"Potter, you're ruining everything." she hissed.

"Sit down!" Harry barked, finally losing his patience as he yanked her down. She struggled with him angrily. Harry put his arm around her and smiled mockingly at Derrick who raised his wand slightly.

"Alright fella, give out," he snarled.

"Uh-uh, Derrick – you're doing the giving," Harry replied.

Derrick leaned forward menacingly. "Listen…"

"Sure, sure – you're the hard boy with the wand. Alright, go ahead, hex me, but that won't take the Aurors off your neck," Harry warned.

"What Aurors?"

"The Aurors that are going to find out where all those hexes that hit Blott came from," Harry answered. He rose from the couch, pacing with nervous, catlike energy as he talked, his sheer ease and conviction held Derrick motionless.

"You killed Blott, last night when it was raining. Trouble is that he wasn't alone when you whiffed him. Either you didn't notice that – and I think you did – or you got scared and ran. But you had enough nerve to take the film out of the camera, and you had enough nerve to come back later and hide his corpse, so you could clean out his store before the Aurors knew there was a murder to investigate."

"It's kind of lucky for you that I didn't kill Blott then," Derrick said in a dangerously quiet tone of voice.

"You can hold your breath for it, just the same," Harry said.

"You think you got me framed?"

"Don't go simple on me, Peregrine," Harry scoffed. "I told you there was a witness."

"Astoria!" Derrick exclaimed. "That little… She would – just that!" Daphne reacted to that – Harry put his hand strongly on her shoulder, holding her in place and quiet.

"I thought that you had that picture of her," Harry said with a laugh.

For a moment, nobody moved. There was a feeling in the air, a feeling of predatory animals; caged and waiting. Daphne looked up slowly into Harry's face, then Derrick put his wand down on the end table by his chair.

"Let's all calm down here," he said. "Let's all just sit quiet a minute and think." He looked at Harry. "Who are you? And what do you get out of this?"

"I'm just a guy paid to do other people's laundry," Harry scoffed. "And all I get out of it are those pictures of Astoria."

"What pictures?"

"Oh, Peregrine," Harry said as if to a very small, petulant child. He sat down beside Daphne again. He turned to talk to her as if Derrick wasn't even present.

"How do you like that?" he asked. "He drops the whole thing in my lap, and then he says _'What pictures'_?" He turned to Pansy. "Poor Pansy. I hate to think of you outside the veil room as they toss him through."

Pansy turned to Derrick. "Peregrine…"

"Shut up," Derrick said, cutting her off. He turned to Harry. "How did you get to me?"

"I never saw so many streets leading to one place in my life. Everywhere I turned I fell over Peregrine Derrick – and I've been doing a lot of turning."

"So Astoria says that I killed him," Derrick whined.

"With the photos in hand," Harry replied, "I might be able to convince her that she was wrong."

Derrick paused and scowled. "I'm not saying I have or haven't got the photos. I'm only saying I'm broke. Pansy and I are down to knuts, and we got to move on for a while till this Blott thing cools off."

"No dough from my client," Harry said coolly.

Derrick looked at Daphne with cold fury. "So you did go to somebody after all." He rose from his seat. "Alright! I don't need your five thousand galleons! I can take you off my back, Potter, and I can get the Aurors taken off. I've got a connection, see? I've got a handle on something big enough to turn this town upside down!"

"Then why haven't you pulled it?" Harry asked as he grinned at the upset man.

"I'm going to. And what I get out of it will make your five thousand look like a roll of knuts."

"Peregrine," Pansy said, "you're not going to do it. You can't go up against Draco Malfoy, he'll…"

"Shut up!" Derrick said furiously. "You have to let that big mouth run off in front of…" He was interrupted by the sudden ringing of the doorbell. The all froze, apprehensive of who might be on the other side of the door. The ringing stopped only to be followed by insistent rapping. Derrick jerked open a desk drawer and tossed a wand to Daphne. She took it and pointed it at Harry, her hand shaking nervously.

"If he gets funny, use your own judgment – and the dame, too."

Pansy sat down on the arm of the davenport next to Harry and pressed her wand into his ribs. Her hand shook even more from her nerves now. Harry gave her a raised eyebrow. Derrick put his own wand in his pocket, but kept his hand on it as he went to the door and opened it. He was pushed back by Astoria Greengrass who had her own wand out and pointed at his chest.

She kicked the door shut behind her. As she did so Pansy leaped up off the davenport and stood just out of Harry's reach, her wand wavering between Astoria and Harry. Daphne reacted to Astoria's entrance, but said nothing. Harry sat still, slowly stroking Daphne's hair.

"I want my pictures, Peregrine," Astoria said in a quiet, vicious voice.

Derrick backed up slowly. "Take it easy, Astoria," he said to her.

"Astoria," Harry said sharply, inclining his head towards Pansy.

"Get away from him, you," Pansy said to Astoria.

Daphne rose sharply, already out of Harry's reach. She whipped her own wand out of her pocket. "Let her alone," she said to Pansy while trying to watch her and Derrick both. "Peregrine, if you hurt her…"

"This is cute," Harry muttered. "Hasn't anyone else got a wand? We can play ring around the roses."

"You shot Xavier Blott," Astoria said to Derrick, ignoring everyone else. "I saw you. I want my pictures."

"For Merlin's sake, all of you – relax!" Harry said sharply. No one heard him. The three women continued to behave like nervous cats. The hexes could start flying at any point. Derrick still had his wand in his pocket, pointed at Astoria. Harry still sat there, right in the middle of the crossfire.

Rolling his eyes heavenward, he moved abruptly. The reflexes that made him the youngest seeker in over a century came into play once again. He flung the couch cushion that Daphne had just vacated at Pansy, knocking her off balance and down, her wand clattering away. Almost as a continuation of the same motion, Harry dove for Daphne's legs. They went down in a heap, struggling for her wand.

She bit Harry's wrist. With his free hand he whacked her across the side of the head and came up with the wand. While Astoria's attention was diverted by the action, Derrick struck at her wand hand. With a crack a spell shot out of the wand, shattering the French glass door to the balcony before the wand skittered out of her hand and across the floor.

Pansy let out a frightened bleat and dove for her wand. Harry beat her there and his foot came down on it, snapping it in two. She let out a frustrated snarl and sat down, pouting. Astoria made a move for her wand and Harry stepped in front of her, scooping up the wand before she could get there. She looked up at him, sidewise, and giggled. He bent over and patted her on the back.

"Get up, Angel, you look like a Pekingese," he said with a lopsided grin. She drew back and rose to her feet as Harry pocketed her wand. He covered Derrick and Pansy with Daphne's wand. "Everybody stand still," he commanded.

Everybody followed his order. He stepped over to Derrick and relieved him of his wand. Derrick wiped nervous sweat off his brow while Pansy and Daphne still crouched half stunned on the floor. Harry laughed.

"My, don't we have fun! You can get up now, kiddies." He motioned to Derrick. "Alright, Peregrine, give."

Derrick walked sullenly to the desk and opened a secret compartment. He pulled out a fat envelope and handed it to Harry. Harry glanced at the contents. "Is this all of it?"

"Yeah," he replied sullenly. "Now will all of you dust so I can air out the room?"

Harry turned as the Greengrass girls approached him. Astoria gave him a languishing smile and held out her hand for the envelope.

"Can I have them now?" she asked.

"I'll take care of them for you," he answered as he handed the envelope to Daphne who thanked him with her eyes. "You'd better go home now," he said to the girls. Astoria continued to look at him sidelong, biting her thumb.

"You'll take care of Astoria?" she asked in a seductive tone.

"Check," Harry said.

"Could I have my wand back?" she asked.

"Later."

"You're awfully cute," she whispered.

"Yeah," he muttered. He stopped Daphne as she passed him, heading for the door. "Countess, you forgot something." He picked up her bag from the davenport and slipped both wands in it before he handed it to her.

"Did I hurt your head much?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"You – and every other man I ever met," she muttered darkly before going out. Astoria followed her, but at the door she turned impulsively and flung her arms around Harry's neck, kissing him passionately.

"I like you," she purred before she turned and ran off down the hall. Harry looked after her, puzzled by her unusual attitude. He closed the door and turned to face Pansy and Peregrine. Pansy glared at him as she dabbed at a nasty looking scrape on her arm with a handkerchief.

"I've had enough of you, chum," Derrick said.

"Yeah, but there's still some unfinished business," Harry said in reply. "What's this handle you've got on Draco Malfoy that's big enough to turn the town upside down?"

"Listen," Derrick hissed, "you've got your pictures. You've got nothing more on me. Get outta here."

"Sure, I can go. You can go too, up to Azkaban. To the big chair in the little cell, where the dementors stand outside, floating around, sucking all the life and happiness from you, till you go mad and rot away for the better part of a century, trapped in the Hell that is your own mind. Of course, you could just ask them to suck out your soul, a lot of people say it's easier than hanging yourself. I wouldn't know."

"What are you trying to do?" Derrick asked in a small voice.

"I'm trying to keep you away from the veil, or the dementor's kiss, in return for some information. You have an alibi for last night?"

"I was right here with Pansy."

"Alright Peregrine, you can only die once, even for a couple of murders." He picked up his hat and headed for the door. Pansy looked scared. She put her hand on Derrick's shoulder.

"Wait a minute," Derrick said. "What do you mean – a couple of murders?"

"But then you don't have to worry, do you?" Harry said. "You've got a connection."

"Sit down," Derrick said.

Harry laughed and sat on the edge of a table. "Where were you about half-seven last night?"

"Watching Blott's place," he said sullenly, "to see if he has any friends too big for me to kick out of the way when I take over his business. It's raining hard, I'm shut up in my car, and I don't see anything except another car parked in the alley below Blott's. I looked at it – it's a Buick, registered to Mrs. Belby. That's all, nothing happened, and I got tired of waiting and went home."

"Know where that Buick is now?" Harry asked.

"How would I?"

"It's in the Aurors' garage. It was fished out of twelve feet of water in the Thames this morning. There was a dead man in it, Owen Vaisley, the Greengrass' chauffeur – the guy you got the pictures from. He'd been killed and the car pointed down the pier with the throttle blocked down."

Derrick gave Harry a stricken look. Pansy tightened her grip on him.

"Peregrine, you didn't…"

"Shut up," he said. "Look, Potter, you can't hang that one on me."

"I can make a good try," Harry replied, "unless you talk and talk straight."

"Alright, alright!" Derrick exclaimed. "Yeah, I heard the spell go off. I saw this guy come slamming down the back steps with something in his hand. He shoots off in the Buick and I follow him. Out off the highway he skids off the road and has to stop, so I stop too and play Auror. His nerve was bad, and I slapped him down. I figured the film might be worth something, so I took it. That was the last I saw of him."

"Uh-huh. So Vaisley gave Blott the works, and all for the love of little Astoria. Agh! The sap! How did you know it was Blott that he hexed?"

"Seemed like a good guess," Derrick answered. "When I saw what was on the film I was sure and when Blott didn't show up at the store this morning, Pansy and I figured it was a good time to do ourselves some business."

"Yeah, you figured, alright," Harry said. You businessed yourself right into a hot box."

"Yeah, yeah, I guess I did."

"I've got connections too," Harry said, "with the Aurors office. If I knew about Draco Malfoy I might be able to cool you down some."

Derrick hesitated, looking nervous. "Go on Peregrine," Pansy said. "Tell him!"

"Alright," Derrick said. "It's kind of a funny story. It isn't about Draco Malfoy, really – it's about his wife. I…"

The doorbell started to ring. Derrick stood up, with Pansy next to him. "So she's back again," Derrick said. He crossed to the door, snarling angrily. "I've had just about enough of this. He opened the door slightly, but Harry couldn't see who was at the door.

A masculine voice rang out: "_Confringo! Confringo!_" Derrick fell forward, knocking the door shut, a look of shocked surprise on his face. He crumpled to the floor. Harry sprang up and hauled him away from the door. Unfortunately he was quite dead. Harry opened the door and ran down the hall, hoping beyond hope he could catch Derrick's killer…


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**Chapter Seven**

She opened her door, frightened by the sound that she heard crashing through the corridor, disturbing her evening repeats of _Coupling _on BBC4. She looked down the corridor only to find the door to the stairs crashing shut as someone exited in one Hell of a hurry.

Harry utilized yet another of his Quidditch techniques that night: the controlled crash. He hurtled down the stairs after his quarry, convinced that if he could just move a little faster he might catch the man who had robbed both Harry of much needed information and Peregrine Derrick of his life.

He spotted the front door closing itself quietly as he raced down the last flight of stairs. He ran through the foyer and out the door, pausing to get his bearings. He spotted the bounder running between two cars angle parked down the street. He went to go after him and then abruptly dropped to the ground as a flash of red light passed through the spot where he had just been standing! A chunk of the wall behind him exploded as the curse hit it.

As he got back up he saw his opponent disappear into the shadows behind a couple of parked cars in the distance. Quickly making up his mind, Harry ran to his car and got in. He decided to cruise in the general direction of the man he was following. If the way that he was wheezing was any indication, it would be a while before the man could concentrate enough to apparate away without splinching himself.

He drove down a quiet residential street, with trees growing heavily along the parkway. On a hunch Harry pulled into a public park and parked the car. He got out and pulled his wand. Walking back the way he had come, he stuck to the shadows as much as he could and picked a likely spot to wait for his prey to arrive.

Thorfinn Rowle walked unconcernedly along, unknowingly approaching Harry. He seemed to feel that he was in the clear, he even started to whistle a soft tune as he walked.

Harry stepped out of the shadows and in front of Rowle, his hands behind him and a fag drooping from his lips. "Got a match, pal?" he asked.

Rowle stood still, taken by surprise. He didn't seem sure of what to do. His hand rose instinctively towards the pocket of his leather jacket, but it didn't get inside. As he did so a siren wailed off in the distance towards the Randall Arms. Rowle turned his head instinctively toward the sound. Harry stepped in against him and jammed his wand into Rowle's midriff.

"Me, or the Aurors?" Harry whispered.

"Get away from me," Rowle growled.

"This is a really good wand, kid. It took down the last Dark Lord. I can give it to you through the belly with enough control so that in three months of intensive treatment at St. Mungo's you'll be well enough to make the last walk up at Azkaban." Harry raised his eyebrows at Rowle, daring him to do anything stupid. Rowle held still, glaring at Harry, then relaxed.

"What do you want?"

Harry motioned with his head towards his car. "Get into my car, kid," he said in a low, dangerous voice. As Rowle obeyed slowly, starting to get in the passenger side Harry stopped him. "Behind the wheel, you drive."

Rowle slid in behind the wheel and Harry got in beside him, keeping him covered all the while. "Let's go to Blott's house," he said pleasantly as Rowle pulled out onto the street. "And by the way, if you shot Derrick for friendship's sake, you shot the wrong guy."

Rowle gave him a hard, nasty look and barked out a brief laugh.

"Not all friendship, was it?" Harry asked softly. "Yeah, money talks, alright. It talks, and it's breath smells of blood…" He laughed to himself. "I told Derrick that sometimes punk burns…"

*0*0*

Harry and Thorfinn Rowle stood on the footbridge in front of Xavier Blott's former residence. Harry still had his wand trained on Rowle. He pulled out a key from his pocket with his left hand and handed it to Rowle. "You open it," he said.

Rowle started to take the key, then slammed Harry with a quick, hard punch on the jaw. Harry rocked back, but didn't fall – he smiled and threw the wand down at Rowle's feet.

"Maybe you need this," he said with a smile.

Rowle lunged for the wand. As he bent down Harry stepped in fast and brought his knee up into Rowle's face, savoring the crunch he felt as Rowle's nose snapped. The force of the blow straightened Rowle up, and Harry uncorked a terrific left cross to Rowle's jaw. The bigger man went down hard. Harry, in a rather unperturbed manner, unlocked the door and picked up his wand, pocketing it. He then proceeded to drag the unconscious man into the house.

*0*0*

Rowle came to stretched out on the couch, his hands bound behind him, under his back. A single lamp shown down into his face, making his squint his eyes. Harry was sitting on the couch, twisted sideways so that Rowle's head was strained back over his knee. Harry was actually helping the strain by having his left hand wound in Rowle's hair. Surprisingly, his manner was gentle, almost friendly.

"You're going to have to cop a plea, brother," Harry said softly. "Don't ever think that you're not. And when you talk, you're going to say just what I want you to say, and nothing else. You hear me, sweetheart?" He smiled down into Rowle's face.

Rowle made no reply, staring stonily into the light.

"It's your face, Thorfinn," Harry said as he ran a hand caressingly over the man's cheek. "You can do with it as you want." He jerked Rowle's head back harder and raised his free hand, bringing the edge of it down on the bound man's cheek.

*0*0*

Harry stood at the telephone, speaking into the receiver. His face was beaded with sweat, his collar open. He was smoking a faggot jerkily, looking very uncomfortable. "Hello, Tonks? Is Kingsley there? No? Well, it's his loss. Yeah, it's Potter. How you fixed for red points Tonks? Well, come on up to 7244 Laverne Terrace – I've got some cold meat set out… might interest you."

*0*0*

They stood by the bed, looking down. Blott is laid out on the bed, two strips of Chinese embroidery cover the wounds on his breast, in the shape of a cross, his hands folded over them. The only light in the room came from two black candles burning on either side of the bed. Harry looked over at the witch next to him. She was statuesque today, about five feet eight, with tight fitting robes that accentuated a very generous amount of curves. Her hair was bubblegum pink, and she had the cutest button nose that Harry had ever seen. Vibrant blue eyes returned his gaze.

"Nice gesture of friendship. Rowle?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied.

She bent over and lifted the Chinese embroidery to study Blott's chest, then straightened up. Harry found the view to be extremely captivating.

"So that's where the hex that Vaisley used hit him. Well, I can understand that." She made a gesture of distaste. "Let's get out of here." Harry motioned for her to precede him into the living room. Rowle was sprawled sideways on the couch, leaning his head against a way, showing signs of his recent encounter with Harry. Harry sat back to enjoy the show.

"Do you admit to shooting Derrick?" she asked.

Rowle didn't move, didn't even open his eyes. "Take a jump, birdie."

"He doesn't have to admit it," Harry said from behind her. "I've got his wand."

"I've called Robards, so he's expecting us," she said, smirking at Harry. "Come on. We'll deliver this punk to him." She reached down and yanked on Rowle's arm. "Get up."

Rowle flung her hand off and rose sullenly. The Auror moved in behind him. "Come on, Potter. Robards will want to see the man that solves single-handed what we make arrests on. And on the way to him, you and I will talk a little too."

"I'm looking forward to it, Angel," said Harry as he rose easily from the chair. "Oh, and Tonks? Nice rack. Did you do that just for me?" He smirked at her glare as she led the sullen prisoner passed him.

*0*0*

They made their way directly to Gawain Robards' office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was sitting behind his desk, waiting for them. He was in a dinner jacket, having been called in hastily from a party. At the corner of the desk sat another Auror, in a buttoned up trench coat, a blue tie showing at the collar. He is a cold, hatchet-faced man, and judging from the furrow between his eyebrows, Harry figured that he wasn't pleased with the way things had happened.

"Evening, Chief," Tonks said as they entered. "Evening, Dawlish." She pulled up a chair and sat down. "Meet Sherlock Holmes, gentlemen," she said, motioning towards Harry. "Grab yourself a chair, Harry – unless you'd rather be on your feet while Dawlish gives you a going-over."

"Sit down, Potter," Robards said. "We'll try to handle Captain Dawlish. But I think you'll admit you were going a little fast, won't you?"

"Thanks," Harry said simply. He sat down and took out a faggot, only to hold it unlighted in his hand. Tonks and Dawlish stared at him.

"Fast is right," Tonks said. "But wait and watch him when his foot finally does slip." She turned to Dawlish. 'Maybe you'd better tell Sherlock Holmes here what else you've got on the Randall Arms killing."

"A blonde," Dawlish drawled. _Typical_, Harry thought. He brought himself back to what Dawlish was saying. "Down on the street, trying to start a car that didn't belong to her. Hers was right next to it, the same model. She acted rattled, so the boys brought her in and she spilled. Claims she didn't see the killer."

"He's in the back office now – handcuffed," said Tonks. Here's the wand," she said as she dropped it on the desk. Dawlish looked at it, but without touching it. After a moment Robards chuckled, obviously enjoying Dawlish's discomfort and Tonks' annoyance.

"But that's just part of it," Tonks said, addressing Dawlish but staring at Harry. "You heard about a car being lifted out of the Thames this morning with a dead guy in it?"

"Do you have to be coy about it?" Harry asked mildly.

Tonks glared at Harry, before addressing Dawlish again. "Sure. The guy they found drowned in the car killed another guy last night in your territory; a guy named Xavier Blott who ran a racket in the back room of his book store in Diagon Alley. The punk I've got in the back office worked for Blott." She turned to Harry. 'You're on, let's have it."

"That's all there is," Harry said with a smile. "When I finally located the lad that moved the packing case out of Blott's back room, Blott's secretary, that's the blonde you collared, was with him. While I was trying to persuade Derrick to tell what became of the packing case, the doorbell rang and somebody hexed him twice. You know the rest of it." He sat back and lit his fag, blowing a puff of smoke in Dawlish's face.

"Except what was in the packing case – yes," Tonks said.

"Derrick never told me," Harry answered.

Tonks stared at Harry. "You see, Dawlish? Even as smart as he is, he's got to guess sometimes, too."

"My guess is the same as yours," Harry said to Tonks. "Probably black mailing stuff. Blott's customers must have been wearing a path across that rug, coming in to know on that locked door and pay their monthly installments."

"That's right, Dawlish. Maybe Sherlock's even going to show us his evidence for guessing that." She glared at Harry.

"Do you folks still guess when you have evidence?" Harry asked innocently.

"That's enough of this!" Robards said sharply. He looked squarely at Harry. "So Vaisley killed Blott because he was in love with the Greengrass girl. And Derrick followed Vaisley, killed him and took the film, then pushed Vaisley into the river. And the punk killed Derrick because the punk thought he should have inherited Blott's business and Derrick was throwing him out."

"That's how I figure it," Harry said in response.

Robards held out his hand. "Let's see what you've got."

"Give pal," Tonks said. "Hiding murders, spending a whole day foxing around so that this punk of Blott's can have plenty of time to commit another one."

Harry reached into his coat and pulled out the three notes and Blott's card to General Greengrass, along with the notebook with its code list of names. Robards looked at them and then lit a cigar. Tonks and Dawlish rose and looked at the articles over Robards' shoulder. Harry sat quietly smoking.

After a while Robards looked up to regard Harry. "These notes, if General Greengrass paid them, it would be because he was afraid of something else. Do you know what he was afraid of?"

"No."

Robards stared at Harry. "Have you told your story complete?" he asked.

"I left out some personal matters," Harry replied while they stared at each other. "I intend to keep on leaving them out."

"Why?" Robards asked.

"I've still got a client," Harry said. "You recommended him to me through Kingsley. My first duty is to him."

All three of them stared at Harry for a long moment. He chose to studiously ignore them all. While staring at Harry, Robards made a sign with his hand.

"Alright," Tonks said to Robards, "but you're wasting time. If you'd let me handle Sherlock…"

"That'll do, Tonks. If you'll remember, Potter used to work here, with your partner. He knows the rules."

Tonks turned to Dawlish. "I want to surrender a prisoner to you. Come on." As Dawlish went out the door Tonks turned to Harry and whispered in his ear. "I like you, better and better. Someday I'm going to like you so well I shan't be able to bear having you out of my sight. When that happens look me up. Maybe I'll show you just what a woman of my talents can accomplish…" She followed Dawlish out of the office.

Robards puffed his cigar and looked intently at Harry. Harry sat there quietly finishing his fag.

"Do you know why I'm not tearing your ear off?" Robards asked.

"I expected to lose both of them, actually," Harry admitted.

"What are you getting for all this?" Robards asked.

"Fifty galleons a day, plus expenses," Harry said.

"And for that money you're willing to get yourself in Dutch with this office, maybe lose your license?"

"I've still got a client," Harry said softly.

"Is he still just a client," Robards inquired just as softly. Harry didn't answer. "Listen to me, son. My father was a close friend of old General Greengrass. I like him as well as you do. I've done all my office permits – maybe a good deal more – to save him some grief. But in the long run, nothing can save him except dying."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, "the big sleep. That'll cure his grief."

"It cures all the grief…" Robards said gruffly. 'You really don't know yet what General Greengrass wants with you?"

"Yes, to settle this business with Blott."

"He's afraid that ex-bootlegger, Baddock, that he took up about a year ago, is mixed up in this somewhere. What he really wants is for you to find out that Baddock isn't."

"Baddock's no bootlegger," Harry said. "I knew him."

Robards shrugged slightly. "Maybe you'd better find him and prove it."

"Maybe I had." Harry rose. He indicated the objects on the desk. "Can I have these?"

Robards looked again at the objects. He picked up the notebook containing the code names and opened a desk drawer, dropping the book in and shutting it. He pushed the other things across the desk towards Harry. "Take them."

Harry picked up his things and walked out of the room and left the Ministry. As soon as he was out, he felt his pocket to confirm that he had the copy of the code book. He loved magic.

**Author's Note: **In case you're wondering how Robards knew so much, remember that Dawlish said that Pansy sang when she was brought in. I figure we're almost exactly in the middle of this story. Hope you enjoy it.

Sharptooth


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**Chapter Eight**

Harry sighed as he entered his apartment building to make his way up to his flat. He shut the outer door behind him and turned to walk to the lift when he noticed the only other occupant in the foyer with him. It was one of the young hoodlums that had been with Draco Malfoy at Xavier Blott's house that morning. The thug rose from the chair he was sitting in and flicked a faggot butt into a potted palm. He thrust his hand into the opening of his coat as he made his way towards Harry.

"Well, well," the hood started. "If it ain't the Devil himself. The boss wants to talk to you."

"What about?" Harry asked wearily.

"What do you care, shamus?" the thug replied with a sneer. "Just keep your nose clean. Let the boss do all the thinking and ask the questions."

Harry dropped his hand into his side pocket. "I'm too tired to talk. Too tired to think, actually, but if you think I'm too tired to refuse to take orders from Draco Malfoy – try getting the fuck out of here before I hex that good ear off."

The thug thought for a moment. He was a large, simple looking man, and the effort he put into considering Harry's words was almost comical. "A comedian, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm going to die laughing in about a minute," Harry remarked dryly.

The goon looked baffled. "But you ain't got no wand," he said. "Or have you forgot about this morning?"

"That was this morning you overgrown baboon," Harry growled. "I'm not always unarmed."

The thug stared at Harry for a while longer, then he waved his hand airily. "Alright, hot shot! You win, but don't let it go to your head, see?" He moved towards the door. "You'll hear from us."

"Too late will be too soon," Harry murmured. He watched the hooligan exit and cross the street. Harry watched him until he disappeared and then, his lip twisted in contempt, he crossed to the lift and headed up to his flat.

He entered his flat and snapped on a light, tossing his hat on the bed. He took his wand from his pocket and set it on the table beneath the lamp. Crossing to a bookcase, he pulled a bottle of gin from one of the shelves and headed for the kitchen to get a glass.

He poured himself a double shot and sat at the kitchen table and took a pull off of it. As he set the glass down on the table the phone rang. He got up with a sigh and answered it.

"Potter," he said simply.

"So you're tough tonight," came the aristocratic drawl of Draco Malfoy.

"Sleepy too. What can I do for you Mr. Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Auror's over there – you know where, did you keep me out of it?"

"What do you think?" Harry replied.

"Listen, flatfoot, I'm nice to be nice to," Malfory snarked.

"You listen," Harry barked. "Maybe you'll hear my teeth chattering."

Malfoy laughed. "Did you – or didn't you?"

"I did," Harry responded. "I don't know why, but I did."

"Thanks, who gunned him?"

"Somebody you've never heard of, let it go at that," Harry replied, already tiring of the conversation.

"If that's on the level," Draco drawled, "someday, I may be able to do you a favor."

"You can now," Harry muttered. "Hang up and let me go to bed." He let out a loud yawn.

Malfoy laughed again. "You're looking for Malcolm Baddock, aren't you?"

"Everybody seems to think I am," Harry replied, "but I'm not."

"If you were, I could give you an idea," Malfoy said. "Drive up to the club and see me, any time."

"Thanks."

"Be seeing you then, Potter," Draco said. The line went dead. Harry put the receiver down slowly and sat for a moment in thoughtful contemplation. He pulled out a faggot and put it to his lips and lit a match. The phone started to ring. He swished out the match and stared at the phone. He pulled a dish cloth out of the sink and threw it over the phone, muffling it. He rose and threw the fag unlit onto the table and began to loosen his tie. He walked off as the phone kept ringing. With a wave of his hand the light shut off, leaving the room in darkness as the phone continued to ring.

*0*0*

Harry found himself in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bureau of Missing Persons, sitting at the desk of a Captain Arthur Weasley. He was a tall thin, balding man with lightly graying red hair. He had the look of a tired bureaucrat, and Harry hoped that he wouldn't give him too much of a hard time. He was frankly tiring of the treatment he had been getting on this case.

Weasley spent a lot of time looking over Harry's credentials. "Private Investigator, eh? Work with Muggles much?" he asked, his voice rising in hope. He deflated somewhat at Harry's shrug. "What can I do for you today?"

"I'm working for General Mark Greengrass. Robards knows him." Harry responded.

"I know who he is too," Weasley said. "Did Robards send you here?"

"Isn't your information available to anyone, unless it's a homicide matter?" Harry asked.

"Did Robards send you here?" Captain Weasley repeated.

"No."

"Did he know you were coming?" he asked.

Harry paused for a moment and pulled out a fag. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"Go ahead," Weasley replied.

"Thanks," Harry said as he lit up.

"What do you want?" Weasley asked.

"I want to know what became of a man named Malcolm Baddock, who used to work for General Greengrass," Harry replied.

"I don't know where he is," Weasley said. "He disappeared one day and never reappeared."

"Will you give me what you have got on him?" Harry asked.

Weasley rang a bell. The door opened and a middle aged woman entered. "Get me the file on Malcolm Baddock," he said to her. The woman exited. Weasley pulled out a charred old pipe and dug tobacco dottle deliberately from it. He pulled out a pouch to fill it when the secretary came back in a set an official file on his desk. He put the pipe down, put on a pair of glasses and opened the file.

"He disappeared on the sixteenth of September. No one reported it. We got into it by finding the car. It was the chauffeur's day off, so nobody at the Greengrass estate saw Baddock take the car out of the garage. We found the car four days later in a garage belonging to a ritzy bungalow court in Notting Hill. The garage man reported it to the thefts office; said it didn't belong there. We couldn't find who it belonged to."

"And of course Draco Malfoy's wife couldn't tell you, because she had disappeared as well," Harry muttered.

Weasley glared at him for a moment. "If you knew so much already, why did you come to me?"

"Sorry," Harry apologized. "Go ahead."

"So you've been talking some to General Greengrass about Baddock."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "You just said that nobody has accused anybody of a crime yet."

"Yes," Weasley admitted. "Mrs. Malfoy was gone too, disappeared within two days of the day that Baddock's car was left in the garage."

"What are the angles?" Harry asked.

"Mrs. Malfoy lived in the flat that the garage belonged to. Baddock was known to carry a lot of galleons, fifteen grand worth at all times…"

"Yes, I'd heard that," Harry said.

"It doesn't seem to have been any secret that Baddock fancied Malfoy's wife," Weasley commented.

"So it looks like they went off together," Harry said absently.

"Baddock had fifteen grand in cash with him. Mrs. Malfoy had some gems, and a car of her own – making two cars available. Everything disappeared but one of the cars."

"What did she look like?" Harry asked. "Have you a photograph?"

"No," Weasley said. "She was a platinum blonde. She probably shan't be now, though."

"What was she before she married Malfoy?"

"One hot mamma," Weasley said with a sigh.

"Maybe she isn't anything now," Harry mused. "Maybe neither of them are."

"You're thinking of Draco Malfoy," Weasley said. "You're wrong. Malfoy's a business man, and a good one. Jealousy's a luxury – murdering for it, at least – that a man like Draco Malfoy knows he can't afford."

"So, as far as you're concerned," Harry said, "Malfoy is out of it?"

"Malfoy is out," Weasley stated. "And, until something more turns up, so are we…"

Harry rose from his seat. "And so am I, it looks like," he said. "There's no law on my book either that says a man with fifteen grand can't run off with a woman he fancies." He shook Captain Weasley's hand and turned to the door. "Thanks," he said.

"Not at all," he older man said as he closed the file. "Give my best to Robards."

"I will," Harry replied with a snicker. He exited the office, making his way to an apparition point.

*0*0*

Harry apparated back to his car and got in with a smile. He really did love his car. As he drove off a mini cooper pulled out behind him. After a few moments Harry spotted the car in his rear-view and a sardonic smile formed on his face. He made sure to keep the mini in sight. He went back to his office in Greenwich.

He walked in, finding Filch waiting for him. He closed the door and faced the aged butler. "Good morning, Filch," he said.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," Filch said as he rose.

"How's the General this morning?" Harry asked.

"Not so well, sir," Filch said. "I – ah…"

"Yeah?" Harry asked. "What's on your mind?"

"I read the Daily Prophet to him this morning," Filch said. "From – ah – certain items we assumed that your investigation is now complete."

"Yes," Harry replied, "as far as Blott is concerned anyway. I didn't shoot him, though."

"Quite so, sir," Filch said.

"I guess you've come for the debris," Harry said.

"The debris, sir?" Filch asked.

Harry crossed to the other door. "This way."

The entered Harry's inner office. Harry went over to the desk and took out a bunch of papers. He evened them and put them in an envelope. "There you are, three notes, and the card." He handed them to Filch.

"Thank you sir," Filch said steadily. "Mrs. Belby tried several to ring you last night…"

"I know," Harry replied. "I was busy getting ignoring it."

"Quite so, sir," Filch said as he put the envelope into his breast pocket. He drew out a check. "The General instructed me to hand this to you." He handed it to Harry. "Will it be satisfactory?"

Harry glanced at it, then folded it and put it in his own pocket. "Five hundred? Quite," he said.

"And we may now consider the entire incident closed?" Filch asked. He seemed curiously insistent.

"Sure," Harry said easily. "Tight as a high security vault at Gringott's."

"Thank you, sir," Filch said. "We all appreciate it. When the General is feeling better, he shall thank you himself."

"Fine," Harry said with a smile. "I'll come out and drink some more of your brandy, maybe with champagne."

"I'll see to it that some is properly iced," Filch replied as he moved to depart. Harry watched his back as the elderly man left. He pulled out the check and opened it slowly. He looked at it in speculation. "Completely closed," he mused, "completely closed…"

He got up and put the check into his wallet. Moving over to the phone he dialed a number he had looked up earlier in the day.

"Hello… let me speak to Draco Malfoy," he said into the phone. "Sure, tell Draco that Harry Potter's on the line. I'll wait…" He tapped his foot to a nameless tune as he waited. "Hello, Draco. I want to see you. I'll drive up tonight… thanks."

*0*0*

Harry walked into the club and checked his hat and coat with the girl. Malfoy's two goon-like bodyguards approached him.

"Hello," Harry said jauntily. "How's the intimidation business up here?"

"Better," the heavy set goon said blandly. "We don't have so many amateurs around."

"Not amateurs," Harry said, "just suckers, huh?"

The guard chose to ignore him. "This way." He motioned for Harry to follow him.

Harry was shown into an office which well furnished in a suave, restrained fashion. It screamed of money. _Well, Draco Malfoy was rich, after all_, Harry thought. Malfoy stood as Harry entered the room and offered his hand. Harry shook it, wondering what kind of reaction he would get if he leaned over and kissed it.

"Took you a long time to get here, didn't it?" Malfoy asked.

"I shouldn't be here now, except that you hinted you had something for me," Harry replied.

Malfoy turned to the liquor cabinet and fixed drinks. He handed one to Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said.

"What did you change your mind about?" Malfoy asked. "About what you're after, or just about admitting it?" Harry didn't answer.

Malfoy leaned against his desk, looking all the while like a pampered prince. "A friend of yours is outside playing the wheels. I hear she's doing well. Mrs. Belby…" Harry looked at him blandly. "I liked the way you handled that situation yesterday. You made me mad at first, but I see now that you knew what you were doing. You and I ought to get along."

Harry looked at him, saying nothing and took a sip of the drink. It was a highball.

"But," Malfoy drawled, "I like to pay my checks as I go along. How much do I owe you?"

"For what?" Harry asked, taken by surprise.

"Still cagey, huh?" Malfoy asked.

"Alright," Harry said, "how much have you got that I can use?"

Malfoy waved his hand in a graceful, easy gesture. "Oh, that. I heard you had all the information already."

"I don't know," Harry replied. "You didn't kill Baddock, did you?"

"No," Malfoy said easily. "So you think I did?"

"I came up here to ask you," Harry replied.

Malfoy stared at Harry. "You've got to be kidding."

"Yeah, I'm kidding," Harry said sarcastically. "I used to know Baddock. You haven't got the men for that work. And, while I think of it, don't send me any more punks. I might get nervous and curse one of them."

Malfoy lifted his glass and took a drink, staring at Harry as he did, trying to get a feeling for him. "You talk a good game, but I still think we can get along. Are you looking for Baddock, or not?"

"Blott was trying to blackmail General Greengrass," Harry said. "I finally figured out that at least half of the General's trouble was being afraid that Baddock might be behind it."

"I see," replied Malfoy, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well, Greengrass can turn over now and go back to sleep. It was Blott's own racket. I like to know who rents anything from me, so I did some inquiring today myself. So, if it was just Blott you were after, whoever killed him washed you and Greengrass both up."

Harry set the glass down. "I guess that's what the General thinks too since he paid me off today." Malfoy picked up Harry's glass. "No thanks," Harry said, "no more."

"Another shan't hurt you," Malfoy said.

"No thanks."

Malfoy set the glass down. "I'm sorry about that," he drawled. "I wish Greengrass would hire you on a straight salary to keep these girls of his home at least a few nights a week," he said with a scowl. He drained his own glass and set it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Harry found it an odd gesture from someone so obviously trying to affect an air of culture.

"They're plain trouble," Malfoy went on. "The older one's a pain in my arse around here. If she loses, she plunges, and I end up with a fist full of paper not even worth the ink on it. If she wins she takes my money home with her."

"Don't you get it back the next night?" Harry asked.

"She's spent it by then," Malfoy snorted.

"And then she's back on the cuff, eh?" Harry asked. "Mind if I look the joint over?"

"Go ahead," Malfoy said. He indicated a small door. "That comes out behind the tables."

"Thanks," Harry said, "but I'll go in with the other suckers. It'll look better that way."

"As you please," Malfoy said. "Call me Draco. We're friends after all…"

"Sure," Harry said as they shook hands.

"Maybe I can do you a real favor someday," Draco said soflty.

"Maybe," Harry replied. "There's just one thing puzzling me, Draco. You don't seem to be in much of a rush to find your wife. From what I hear she's not the kind of wife a guy wants to lose. Could it be you know where she is – with Baddock?"

"Look, soldier," Draco said, his voice deadly quiet, "what's between me and my wife is between us…"

"Alright," Harry said, "sorry." He went over to the door, then turned. "You don't have anyone tailing me in a mini cooper, do you?"

Draco started, a look of genuine surprise and puzzlement on his face. "No. A mini cooper? When?"

"Then it doesn't matter," Harry said. "If it isn't you, it's just an enemy. I can take care of him." He turned back to the door and left the room. Malfoy stared after him.

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the delay in posting. They say that life is what happens while you're busy making other plans. Let's just say that life happened this week and I didn't get a lot of writing done. I have been working on a number of my older stories, and I hope to get them to a point where I can post on them shortly. Thanks for being great readers.

Sharptooth


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**Chapter Nine**

Harry leaned against a small, swank bar, looking out into the gambling room. It was big and spacious, with various small layouts along the wall. At the end of the big room there were three roulette wheels. The two outside ones were deserted; even the croupiers had been drawn to the crowd that had gathered at the middle one. In the center of the crowd Harry could make out Daphne's head. Her face was flushed and she had a wild, excited look about her. It appeared that she was on a winning streak.

On the fringe of the crowd the waiters were standing as well, watching her. All the build-up seemed to indicate a phenomenal run that Daphne was on. The barman behind Harry leaned on the bar and spoke softly into his ear.

"She's sure picking them tonight. She comes here a lot, and from the way it's been running for her, she's due to pick them. It's been a long time since this place's seen anything like that."

Two men emerged from the crowd around the wheel and approached the bar, excitedly. The barman moved over to them waiting for their order.

"Scotch and soda," the first man ordered. As the barman started to get his drink the man mopped his face. "Boy, I never saw such a run. Eight wins and two stand-offs in a row on that red. Betting a grand at a crack, too…"

The barman served the man his drink and took the other man's order. "A grand a crack, huh?" he asked. "I saw an old horse-face in Havana once…"

Harry moved away as the men took up their drinks. He slowly made his way over to the roulette wheel. As he reached the crowd he saw that play had stopped. The croupiers of all three wheels were now facing Daphne across the table. A mass of galleons, pound notes and chips were in front of her on the board.

"If you would just be patient for a moment, Madame," one of the croupiers was saying to her. "The table cannot cover your bet. Mr. Malfoy shall be here in a moment."

Daphne looked about, cool and insolent, though her face was flushed with excitement. "What kind of a cheap outfit is this?" she asked sharply. "I want one more play and I playing table stakes. You take it away fast enough, I notice, but when it comes to dishing it out, you begin to whine." She glared at the croupier.

"The table cannot cover your bet, Madame," the croupier repeated. He indicated her pile. "You have over sixteen thousand pounds worth there."

"It's your money," she said sharply. "Don't you want it back?"

"Look, lady," a man next to her started.

She wheeled on him, her look cutting him viciously. "Do you want another sixteen thousand of it?" The man fell back, discomfited. A door opened in the wall behind the table, and the crowd fell silent as Draco Malfoy came out of it. He sauntered up to the table, smiling and indifferent. He looked immaculate, his hands in his jacket pockets as the strolled to the table.

"Is something the matter, Mrs. Belby?" he asked. She was about to speak when he continued easily, in a courteous voice. "If you're not playing any more, you must let me send someone home with you."

"One more play, Draco," Daphne pleaded. "All of it on red. I like red, it's the color of blood," she said softly. Malfoy stared at her for a second. He smiled faintly, and took a large pinseal wallet with gold corners from his breast pocket. He tossed it carelessly to the croupier without opening it.

"Cover her bet in even thousands," he said in a low, soft tone. He turned to the crowd. "If no one objects to this turn of the wheel being for the lady alone…?"

The crowd was silent and breathless. Daphne leaned down and shoved the whole mass of her winnings savagely onto the red diamond of the layout and stood back. Harry could have sworn that she purposefully angled herself to give him a flash of very impressive cleavage.

The croupier leaned in without any haste and rapidly and skillfully counted the money, stacked it, and placed all but a few scattered chips and bills on the red diamond. The remnants he raked up and pushed them back to a point in front of Daphne. Then he opened Malfoy's wallet with the same deliberate skillful swiftness and drew out two flat packets of hundred pound notes. He broke the tape around one and counted out sixty bills. He added them to the unbroken one and put the remainder back into his employer's wallet. He laid the wallet aside as carelessly as if it were a packet of matches. Malfoy, though he watched the croupier, took the moment to pick at one of his nails in obvious disinterest. The croupier spun the wheel with one hand and snapped the ball into it with the other. He then drew back and folded his arms to see how this would play out.

Daphne watched the ball with rapt interest. Her face was flushed with excitement, and Harry noted with an investigator's eye that her nipples had stiffened to a point of visibility through her dress. _Interesting_, he thought as the ball spun around the wheel…

The ball and wheel both eventually started to slow, and Harry could hear the ball start to bounce along the slots in the wheel, but he was too interested in watching Daphne to pay much heed to the ball.

Her breathing had become harsh and jagged as her eyes were glued to the wheel. Her hands were slowly moving down her sides, and he noted that they stayed just a moment too long as they strayed down over the sides of her generous breasts. She was obviously aroused by this moment.

He smiled as he filed that fact away in his mind. The catch of her breath as she shuddered and clenched her legs together made his eyes flick to the wheel. He noted the position of the ball just as the croupier announced it.

"Red… odd… second dozen…" the man said in an even tone. Daphne laughed in triumph and spun around with a small squeal of glee. She stopped and watched as the croupier added the stack of bills to her pile and pushed it back to its spot in front of her.

Malfoy smiled faintly, his face otherwise expressionless. He took up his wallet and placed it back in his pocket. With a very faint nod to Harry he silently walked back to the door and exited the room.

*0*0*

Harry came out of the restroom and made his way to the check room. He gathered his hat and coat, and dropping a couple of galleons into a collection plate, he headed towards the door. As he exited into the night he buttoned his coat and walked down the steps towards the parking lot and his beloved corvette.

He made his way down a shrubbery bordered path, only to stop and look about. His face was intent. He listened as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of fags. He tossed it in his hand, and then, contemptuously, and somewhat regretfully, shrugged and thrust it back into his pocket. He moved ahead, quiet and stealthily. He paused and listened again. He was about to go on when the sound of a slight cough came from ahead of him. He pulled his wand and stepped quickly and soundlessly into the shrubbery. He silently disillusioned himself and waited.

Harry looked around, and quickly spotted his quarry. Ten feet away another man was crouched behind a shrub beside the path. He turned his head and Harry could see that he was masked. As he contemplated his next move, Harry's ears picked up the faint sound of feet approaching.

Daphne came around a turn in the path, clutching her handbag to her. As she passed the shrub the man stepped out quickly. Daphne stopped, but made no sound.

"I've got my wand on you, lady. Gently now, just hand me the bag." For a moment, Daphne didn't move. Then she drew in a deep breath as if to scream, still clutching the handbag. "Yell, and I'll cut you in half," the thug growled. He grabbed the bag, and opening it he thrust his hand inside. "It had better be here…"

"Hi pal," a soft voice said from behind him. The thug froze. His wand started to steal upwards slowly as he turned to face a smiling Harry. "Easy now," Harry said.

As Harry and the thug stared at each other two shadowy figures emerged from the shrubbery. One of them flashed his hand down and struck Harry on the back of the head with something he held in it. As Harry fell forward the second one started to move toward Daphne.

She let out a scream and fired a spell from her hip. At the same time a flash of red light shot from Harry's position on the ground. One of the thugs cried out in mingled pain and anger. In the distance people began to shout – it seemed that the noise had attracted some attention.

The three thugs spun on the spot and apparated away. Daphne crouched down beside Harry, helping as he tried to sit up. He held his head in pain as he did so.

"Agh… good thing I've got a thick skull," he murmured. As he did so parking attendants ran up, wands out. A beam of light from one of the wands played on them.

"What happened?" one of them asked. "Are you hurt?"

Harry stood groggily and swayed. "It's alright. Just a slight hold-up. The lady flashed too much money inside, and obviously someone felt that they were more entitled to it." He looked at Daphne. "Alright, Mrs. Belby?"

"Yes, are you?" she replied.

Harry nodded slowly, wincing. "Let's go, I don't like crowds." They got away from the curious onlookers and walked down the dark path towards the parking lot. "You got a car with you?"

"I came with a man," she said. "He's dead drunk, forget him. What are you doing here, besides playing bodyguard?"

"We both seem to have been doing a bit of that. Good work back there, by the way," he said softly. "Draco Malfoy wanted to see me."

"What for?" she asked.

"He changed his mind," Harry said. "He never did tell me."

"You're lying," Daphne accused.

"Alright, I'm lying," Harry agreed as they walked on.

They made their way to Harry's car. As they crossed to the little corvette, Harry paused. "Why are you trembling?" he asked. "Don't tell me you're scared, because I won't believe that."

"I'm not used to being mugged. Give me a little time," she replied.

"Mugged?" Harry said slowly. "That's all it was?"

"What else?" Daphne asked.

Harry studied the hole in her coat. "You always keep your wand in your coat pocket?"

"I feel safer if I do, considering some of the heels I go around with," she muttered.

Harry let out a laugh. "You're terrific," he said as he helped her into the car. He got in and started the engine.

*0*0*

They were moving rapidly down the road. Harry was intent on the road, but Daphne seemed nervous. "So Draco had you come all the way up here and wouldn't tell you what he wanted?" she asked.

"That's right," Harry said dryly. "I'm still lying."

"Have you got a drink?" she asked suddenly.

"Sure," Harry said. While he continued to drive he leaned and took a flask out of the glove compartment to hand to her.

Daphne took the flask and made to put it to her lips. "I can't drink like this," she said sharply. "Stop the car." Harry complied and pulled to the side of the road. He turned to face her.

Daphne closed the flask and put it back into the glove compartment, slamming it shut. "I don't want a drink. Let's talk."

"Do we need to?" Harry asked. "The General paid me off today. I'm officially off the case."

"Are you?" Daphne asked.

Harry sighed. He seemed to make a decision. "Alright, what's Draco Malfoy got on you?"

Daphne lifted the handbag and slapped it. "This, for instance," she replied easily, "and tonight's not the first time."

"Which would make Draco Malfoy sore. So we'll pass on that and start over. What's he got on you?"

"Wittier, please, Potter… wittier," she said softly.

"I can't," Harry said. "I'm too old to learn now."

"But not old enough to out grow some of your other habits," she muttered.

"For instance?" he asked.

"Killing people," she said harshly. She stared at him while he tried to follow her reasoning. "So… you're a killer…"

"Does that mean Blott… or Derrick… or both of them?" he asked.

"Why not?" she replied. She looked at him and her manner suddenly changed. She spoke to him with a quiet and complete sincerity. "I wish I was sure you had done it. Then I could thank you – in my father's name. He still has his pride, at least."

"And you and your sister haven't." It wasn't a question.

"Astoria and me…" she started with bitter contempt, and then pressed on rapidly. "We're his blood. That's where the hurt is. That Father might die despising his own blood. It was always wild, but it wasn't always rotten." She slumped back in the seat and tears started to run down her cheeks. Harry leaned over and pulled out a handkerchief to gently wipe the tears away for her. As he did so his face pulled to within inches of hers.

"Move closer," she whispered. Harry stared at her. After a moment he flung the handkerchief away and put his arms around her. "Kiss me," she said to him. Harry moved in and their lips met. The kiss started out hesitantly, but rapidly gained in intensity as they could no longer deny their mutual attraction. After a very long time Harry raised his head and sat back.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"Hobert Arms," Harry replied.

"I've never seen it," she said breathily.

"Would you like to?" he asked softly, wonder in his eyes.

"Yes," she whispered.

He regarded her for a few moments, then silently cursed himself for what he was about to do. "You never answered me, what does Draco Malfoy have on you?" _Damn the detective_…

She was motionless for a second, and then she pushed herself away from him and sat up violently. "So that's the way it is?"

"That's the way it is…" he said softly.

She took a moment to visibly control herself. She took out her own handkerchief and scrubbed her lips savagely with it. "Men have been cursed for less than this, Potter," she spat out.

"Men have been cursed for less than nothing," he replied. "The first time we met I told you I was a detective. Get it through your lovely head. I work at it, lady. I don't play at it."

"What makes you think that Draco Malfoy has anything on me?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "He lets you win a lot of money, then he has one of his thugs meet you in the back garden to take it all away from you. And then you're not even surprised about it. You didn't even thank me for saving it for you."

"Do I need to tell you what I think of you, Mr. Detective?" she snarled.

"You don't owe me anything. Your father paid me. If anything, I owe you for the kiss."

"Let me congratulate you on keeping your head," she said sarcastically.

"Maybe I didn't," he muttered.

"Take me home," she commanded. With a sigh, Harry started the car and drove on.

*0*0*

Harry entered his apartment and closed the door behind him. _That could have gone better_, he thought to himself. The only light in the room filtered in from a street lamp outside. He flung his hat carelessly towards a chair, evidently out of long habit, and started across the room towards the kitchen in search of a drink and in too much of a hurry to bother with turning on the lights.

As Harry approached the kitchen a light clicked on behind him. He froze momentarily and cursed himself silently. He spun around, his wand trained on the person that was there. Astoria Greengrass sat there in one of his armchairs, the one in fact where he had flung his hat. She held it up, smiling. She was dressed in a light green evening gown, more or less covered by a light wrap.

"What does the hat-check girl get for a tip?" she asked coyly.

"I'm trying to think of something appropriate," Harry replied grimly. "How did you get in here?"

"Bet you can't guess," she answered.

"Bet I can," he replied. "You came in the keyhole, like Peter Pan."

"Who's he?" Astoria asked.

"A guy I used to know around the poolroom," Harry snarked.

"You're cute," Astoria giggled.

"And getting cuter every minute. How did you get in?" Harry asked again.

"I showed your manager your card. I stole it from Daphne," she said. "I told him you told me to come here and wait for you."

"Fine," he barked. "Now tell me how you're going to get out."

"I'm not going," she replied as she stood and slipped off her wrap. _She certainly filled out the dress very well_…

She looked at him, and it was a surprisingly honest, steady look. This was s a different Astoria – a puzzled, half-frightened girl who seemed to be waking from a dream – not sure she wanted to, but unable to help herself. Harry looked back at her, nastily. But, he did sense a difference, and his voice was surprisingly gentle when he spoke.

"Listen, Astoria, I'm tired. I've had a hard day's work. I like you, I'm your friend, and any other time I'd be tickled to death to see you, but not now. Will you please go home?"

"Are you really my friend, Harry?" she asked in a hungry, quiet voice.

"Sure…" Harry said.

"I need a friend, Harry… someone to…" she stopped, apparently confused, groping for words.

"Someone to what, Astoria?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. She looked up at him, searching his face. As though Harry was a magnet, she slowly approaches him, still looking at him. She comes close to him, but she doesn't touch him.

"What is it in you?" she asked, almost to herself. "I'm afraid of you, and yet… There's something straight and hard… Harry, I wish I'd met you before… I long time ago…"

"Hey, hey Angel… what's all this?" Harry asked, trying to get it out of her.

"I don't know," she replied. "Why did you have to come?" she asked angrily. "I was alright, I was fine."

"And now?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," she said, almost in tears.

"Look," Harry said, "you and I want to go on being friends, and because of that you shouldn't be here." He moved and picked up her wrap, holding it out for her. "Be a good girl."

She moved to take the wrap, but ended up taking his hand instead. The wrap fell back to the floor. "Do you think I can be a good girl?" she asked in a sultry tone.

"It doesn't matter what I think," Harry replied.

Astoria brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it softly. "But don't you want me to try?"

"I just want you to get out of here," he said as he tried to extricate his hand from her.

Astoria clung to his hand possessively. "You've got funny thumbs," she said. "Can I bite it?" Before he can answer she raised his hand and started to put his thumb in her mouth. With a sharp, violent motion he pulled his hand away.

"Stick to your own thumb," he said harshly. "Hasn't it carried you alright through your life?"

"Alright," Astoria replied obediently. She raised her own thumb and put it into her mouth and sucked it in with a seductive look on her face. Harry picked up her wrap and approached her.

"Alright, now take your thumb and get out of here," he commanded.

"It's not my thumb, see?" she giggled. She removed the object from her mouth and held it up for him to see. It's the white queen from his wizard's chess set. There's a horrified look on the queen's face. Harry stared at her for a moment, then slapped the piece out of her hand and moved towards her. She took a step back with a frightened look on her face.

Harry stopped, seething with barely suppressed rage. "Get out," he whispered, his voice deadly cold.

"Maybe if people had done that to me more often, I would have been good now," Astoria murmured.

Harry grabbed her arm and hurried her across the room to his door. He jerked the door open and almost hurled her through it. He flung her wrap after her and slammed the door shut, then quickly cast the strongest locking charm he knew on it. He heard her rattle the knob and then heard her try to charm it open. Then she started hammering on the door.

He turned and crossed the room quickly while she still pounded on the door. He went into the bath and washed his hand savagely with soap and water. He was sweating profusely. The pounding continued. He examined his hand, and still he wasn't satisfied. He jerked open the medicine cabinet and looked at his innocuous bottles of mouthwash. _What I really need_, he thought, _is carbolic acid_. Not finding what he wanted he went back out through the living room and into the kitchen. She was still pounding on the door.

He found a bottle of firewhiskey that was about half full. He pulled the stopper out and poured the contents over his hand, flinging the now empty bottle away with a loud crash. He returned to the living room, to find that she was still hammering on his door. He found the chess piece and walked over to the fireplace. Conjuring a hammer, he proceeded to systematically reduce the piece to a fine power. Continuing even after the piece was gone, his blows at last drowned out the sound of Astoria pounding on the door…


End file.
